The Temporal Comedy: Zeit und Zwischenraum
by Angelique Sauvegarde
Summary: A covert operation in Rome uncovers an international conspiracy that involves the XMen on more than one level. And an undercover operative takes a personal interest.
1. Chapter 1

**Zeit und Zwischenraum**

**Mutants at our Masses:**

_**Catholic or Catastrophic?**_

By Angelique Sauvegarde 

Throughout history, it has not been unusual for the Catholic Church to weigh in on a variety of issues, from large-scale injustices like poverty and war to everyday matters like family harmony, regardless of the popularity of its teachings. So it surprised very few to hear that the Pope had taken a position on mutants and their place within our society. His recent encyclical, _Nostra Familia Mutantis_, however, has stirred a firestorm greater than even the controversy surrounding _Humanae Vitae._

In light of this, it is only fitting that we devote a series of articles to detailing and investigating reactions from all sides. Starting today and throughout the week, we will feature articles by and interviews with leading doctors, clergy and religious, scholars, politicians, and everyday people, Catholic and otherwise, with a variety of opinions regarding and experiences with mutants among us. For a great many of us, this is a frightening issue that forces us to question what it means to be human and where humanity stands in the whole of God's creation. But these questions need to be asked. It is our hope that we may provoke honest but thoughtful discussion guided by the kind of reasoning many say is the divine spark, the wisdom we like to think makes us _homo sapiens_.

Who and What are Mutants, Anyway? Notizie San Gabriel 

Equally human: 48 percent

Members of separate and superior hominid species: >1 percent

Members of separate and threatening species: 33 percent

Other: 14 percent

Don't know: 4 percent

A scientific study of 50,000 randomly selected people revealed these results. Further probing revealed that the general public does not accept mutants as much as these numbers alone would indicate.

Of those who regarded mutants as non-human threats to humanity, all were in favor of eradicating mutant populations. "It's not as if they, like lions or tigers, contribute anything to the ecosystem," said "Sierra". "And as long as they are allowed to fancy themselves human, they'll feel entitled to destroy and consume as much as humans. Humanity, and the earth as a whole, will not lose anything. Indeed, we will only benefit from the extinction of these species."

Of those who voted "other" or "don't know," 5 were in favor of extending mutants equal rights. 60 favored restrictions, such as have been proposed under numerous nations' mutant registration acts, and 35 supported eradication. "I don't think they're human," said "Tom," "but if a dog started speaking up and demanding its rights, I'd listen. But if it asked to be taken off its leash, no way."

The percentage that regards mutants as separate and superior was overshadowed dramatically by the study's 2 margin of error.

Finally, even those who regard mutants as fully and equally human revealed some anti-mutant bias. 70 favored restrictions under various mutant registration acts. "I don't see how law enforcement could keep up with mutant crime, without restrictions," said "Edith." "And while I'm sure there are mutants who are kind, decent people, I don't think I'd want my daughter to go out with one."

From the Scientific Community 

"There are a few mutants, to be perfectly fair, who arrogantly claim to be of a new, separate, and superior species,and act as if the morality that governs all humanity does not apply to them," says Dr. Adimu Altheim, coauthor with geneticist Dr. Henry McCoy of various studies and articles such as "The Ethics of Mutant Stem Cell Research."

Biologically, mutation is nothing more than a suddenly occurring genetic variation, and it actually occurs in humans quite frequently. "Most of the time, mutations are no more noticeable or bothersome than one's habit to get up earlier than most, or an extra bone in another's foot," Dr. Altheim says.

She also says that sometimes mutation, while never a disease in and of itself, can result in diseases or disabilities such as a tendency toward cancer or depression. "But in a truly human society, we would seek exercise prevention where there is a risk for disease, or treat the illness should it arise, rather than eliminate the patients. Only very rarely does a mutation actually produce extraordinary abilities in the people possessing it. As revolutionary as it may seem to many, mutants are in fact just as human as anyone else."

The Church's Position 

Philosophy professor and Canon lawyer Father Patrick Brady called into question common definitions of humanity, citing numerous works, "from the medieval Platonists, to Chaucer, to C.S. Lewis," suggesting or even stating outright that even having a seemingly inhuman body does not preclude having a mind or soul that is or is equal to human.

He also says that the ramifications of any anti-mutant bias in the Church could interfere with the Church's ability to minister in seemingly unrelated areas. "If we deny believers their humanity and a place in the Church based on genetic traits," he says, "what, then, of the child who has Down's Syndrome, or the beloved parish priest with osteogenesis imperfecta?" He insists that only by very flawed logic can we continue to oppose racism, sexism, abortion, eugenics, discrimination against the disabled, and other crimes against anyone likely to be arbitrarily denied their rights as human beings if the Church does not welcome mutants. "His Holiness really has come to the only conclusion consistent with the Church's regard for all human life. For the sake of all the good the Church ever has and ever will stand for, we must extend the same welcome to mutant believers that we would to anyone else."

**News Publishing Office Robbed and Vandalized**

Reporters Escape Bombing Attempt From L'Osservatore Romano 

_Rome- _The main office of Catholic news service _Notizie San Gabriel_ was robbed and vandalized yesterday after running several articles addressing mutant issues. Workers arrived to find windows broken, threats spray painted upon the walls, papers and computer equipment strewn everywhere, and a parcel bomb addressed to freelance reporter Angelique Sauvegarde, author and editor of the controversial _Mutants at our Masses _series. Several computers were also stolen.

"So many groups called in and claimed responsibility," said police chief Rafael Neri, "that it's hard to tell if they were lying, covering for the real perpetrators, or actually involved."

The staff remained undaunted and issued the following statement. "In the name of fair reporting, we had actually hoped that people on all sides would contribute more letters and interviews, rather than this. We encourage the newspapers and magazines we serve to run the rest of the series, and refuse to be intimidated by those who do not value the free exchange of ideas."

Nightcrawler read and re-read the article. Violence against mutants or mutant sympathizers was as disturbing as it was common. And every time it seemed society made progress in solving that problem, something would happen that would galvanize the bigots. But something else bothered him as well. Angelique Sauvegarde was a rather unusual name, true. A name, French or otherwise, that literally meant "angelic safeguard" was most likely a nom de plume. Or nom de guerre. But didn't he recently refer to a dear friend as his "guardian angel," before she left for an undercover assignment?

"Ja Himmel noch a'mal!" He hastily folded his copy of _L'Osservatore Romano _and teleported to the Professor's office

Professor Charles Xavier was unruffled by the explosion of smoke and the sudden appearance of a blue man crouching on his desk, frantically waving a newspaper.

_"_Was ist los? Ist sie-?"

"Yes, Kurt," said Charles. "It is she. Don't worry. I think she actually chose that alias so you could check on her without compromising the mission. She is safe, and she trusts that we will keep her identity to ourselves. Meanwhile, she is actually far more worried about us. You in particular."

4


	2. Chapter 2

Angelique Sauvegarde had done her work. The last of her articles was written and ready to runAnd because of her and the pressure she put on local police, the Vatican Security Corps had more insight as to the budding international threat they had on their hands. She could now take a break from freelance journalism, investigative reporting, and conducting studies, and disappear for a bit, perhaps to work more on writing a book or whatever. It would be wise, anyway. Her uncanny ability to deduce and anticipate the near future saved her from opening and detonating that parcel bomb. Brave woman that she was, she knew when it was time to retreat.

An extended sabbatical in Russia might be in order. Her old friend Piotr had been gone for months. She would never acknowledge his death. And her persistent tendency to miss the funerals of loved ones became almost the subject of a running joke among her friends and family. But she still felt bad about going for so long without at least paying her respects. Such a gentle, self-sacrificing soul. Even if she refused to mourn, she still missed him.

Meanwhile, the Vatican Security Corps took on a new security consultant fresh from Arlington, Virginia, FBI criminal profiler Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. When she first arrived and settled into her new office, she took a second to scan the room for bugs. Thoroughly. In an instant, she was as confident of her office's security as any spy who'd spent hours seeking out bugs could be. She never said or did anything of tactical importance without checking. Granted, this was the Holy See's equivalent of FBI headquarters, but she would not take any chances. She was given this assignment based on her reputation as one of the world's best criminal investigators, with a tough but squeaky-clean character to boot. So her methods had to be respected, including her insistence on working quickly, quietly, and, for the most part alone.

She'd spent her first weeks in Rome getting acquainted with the people she'd need to know, some of whom had corresponded with Angelique Sauvegarde, or at least were familiar with the reclusive writer's work. All were good contacts: the Vatican's chief of security, the chief of Rome's_ Polizia_, the commander of the Swiss Guard, and the Secretary of State. She never expected to find anything on them, nor on anyone directly connected to them. But these were good, resourceful people who were quite willing to help her help them. Particularly the Secretary of State, who, according to his job description, had to know everything and say nothing. She liked him right off the bat. She hoped for everyone's benefit that the work she'd rope them into wouldn't be too sordid. But for now, it was a relief to know that her biggest difficulty at the moment was keeping her black hat from blowing off that wind-tossed mess of tight curls some liked to call her hair as she made her way across Piazza de San Pietro. This particular meeting called for an extra measure of decorum.

Elizabeth dropped to her left knee and kissed the Fisherman's Ring. "Santitá, _You must have indeed stirred up a hornet's nest of controversy for you and Cardinal Vallejo to ask me here."_

"_More foolishness to the wise, that's all." _He helped her to her feet, more out of simple courteous habit than out of any need he perceived. Indeed, the child seemed, despite her appearance, almost strong enough to break a man in half with her bare hands. _"I never expect the right thing to be popular. And particularly at my age, I am not worried about protecting my own life. Still, I am grateful that _Signora_ Sauvegarde's articles ran when they did_. _She took a terrible risk and redirected a lot of this anger away from me and toward herself, didn't she?_"

"_That was part of her objective, in addition to publicizing your encyclical and exposing the reactions to it, Your Holiness," _Elizabeth replied_. "Simply to safeguard other people's lives and liberty and ensure your work along the same line is not in vain. She said it's a risk worth taking. And I agree absolutely." _

"_And for the sake of our shared objectives," _said the Pontiff, _"His Eminence and I have agreed to granting you complete access. I will put anything you need at your disposal."_

"Ringrazio la Vostra Santitá."

"E ringrazio te, figlia mia."

The officer had Vatican Security's crime laboratory to herself. Now came time to study the case history and the evidence. Angelique Sauvegarde was a freelancer, not officially on San Gabriel'spayroll, and she worked on her own laptop, which was now safely in the officer's hands. She memorized the surveillance tapes. The figures were black clad, gloved, and blurry. Forensics said they left behind little evidence. It didn't matter to her. She had the crime scene pictures, rocks, and other debris she could study.

Then the officer code named Zeitgeist, stepped out of time. Even the very rocks had timelines she could trace, with her mutant extratemporal abilities, back to the hands of the people who threw them. With an event she could recognize, the vandalism at the Notizie San Gabriel offices, she could find those lines and trace them. In an instant, she had some names, and better yet, information on a few criminal backgrounds. But there were a few things she needed to clarify. Some things in their backgrounds did not seem to make any sense. She returned to time.

"Let's see if we have any files on them," she thought to herself, sitting at her computer. Ah, yes. They all had records, mostly for various hate-related vandalisms and assaults committed across Europe and North America. By all appearances, they were common anti-mutant thugs, but for the theft of the computers. Obviously they weren't interested in committing random acts of terrorism. They were more sophisticated than they let on. They wanted information. She smirked. They didn't get it. But she could get them. Still, she felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. She didn't like having to do this, but she would have to question one or more personally. She called her station chief.

"_I have names," _she said. _"Our agent will bring one in."_

3


	3. Chapter 3

"_I've done all I can_," said _Polizia _Chief Rafael Neri. _"This Arnold Eastman is a tough one to crack. He would only answer in disjointed Bible verses and _un mucchio di sciochezze _that I can't sort through."_

"_He will open up_," said Elizabeth. "_You play '_good cop, bad cop'_ here, too, don't you?_"

"Si, si. _And I suppose you'll be the _good cop_?"_

Elizabeth smiled, knowing it didn't occur to Neri that a doe-eyed, diminutive, cultured slip of a girl could ever play the bad cop. _"_Stavolta, si."

They both entered the interrogation room.

"I've just heard, 'Brother,' that you are charged with causing some trouble in the United States, as well as here. The FBI has gone to a lot of trouble to send Agent Errol-Koenig here. So I hope, for your sake, you will stop talking _nonsenso_," said Neri.

The suspect looked over to the dark, black-suited young woman that sat before him.

"Touch nothing unclean…" he said almost to himself.

Neri leaned on the table, his menacing frame looming large. "Racist, no? Don't worry. And don't flatter yourself. I don't think she's interested."

"It is a disgrace for a woman to speak…"

"Capo, posso fare questo," the woman interrupted. "'Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities,'" she quoted to the suspect, "'for there is no authority except that which God has established.'"

"I follow a higher authority."

"Higher than God, Mr. Eastman? I will continue. 'The authorities that exist have been established by God.1' Yes, Mr. Eastman, I'm afraid that includes women in authority. Even Black women. And federal agents. If your higher authority is any good whatsoever, and if you have nothing to hide then you will respect me."

"Dio mio," thought Neri, as he stepped out of the room. If this was what Elizabeth was like playing "good cop," he didn't know if he could stand to ever get on her bad side.

"I hear you don't even want a lawyer."

"The Lord is my advocate…"

Elizabeth leaned toward him, eyes ablaze. "And mine, too. I just wonder if we're talking about the same Lord."

Eastman blinked and squinted as the woman before him seemed to blur and brighten for a split second. He also felt a need to either stop or redirect the conversation.

"But you look faint, and I'm a bit hungry, myself. How about something to eat?" Elizabeth said, in a low, smooth voice. She punched an intercom button and rattled off a few more words Eastman could not understand. An officer brought in some coffee and a couple of sandwiches. His vision blurred again.

"The best Rome's finest can offer." Elizabeth shoved a plate and cup toward him. "Buon appetito. And when you're ready, might as well come out and tell me everything."

Eastman took a bite and glanced up. He'd never seen, let alone eaten, anything on ciabata bread before, and was a bit cautious. But Elizabeth was right. He was hungry, and it was pretty tasty. After several more bites washed down with coffee, he felt much better.

Elizabeth continued. "While you finish eating, I might as well tell you how I moved up with the FBI. I don't practice any occultism, but my first official capacity was as a psychic."

"You have the gift of prophecy?"

"You could say that. But my point is that I'll find out whatever you try to hide one way or another, so you might as well save us both the trouble and be upfront with me. And there is that commandment against bearing false witness."

Eastman noticed a silver medal she wore around her neck. "So you are a believer. You know Scripture. And that medal-"

"Yes. It's of St. Michael the Archangel. Patron saint of soldiers and police officers."

"Appropriate." Eastman smiled. "But you forgot swordsmen."

"So I did. Not very many people know that outside the salle. Do you fence much,

by any chance?" she asked. Establishing authority and then trust helped, but how on earth did he know that?

The question caught him off guard. "No. Do you?"

Elizabeth smiled. "A bit, but back to the subject, Mr. Eastman-"

"Brother Eastman."

"Brother Eastman, from here on out, try quoting Scripture correctly and in

context. The Lord also said you shall not kill. And you're here on charges for attempted murder."

Eastman looked down. "That reporter was marked for excommunication."

"Excommunication just means being denied Communion, 'Brother,' not being blown up."

Eastman about choked on his coffee. "For treason against humanity? Comforting mutant abominations? The Supreme Pontiff said such a death would be a merciful punishment for those crimes."

"You're not talking about the current Pope, are you?"

"That apostate?"

"I didn't think so. So tell me more about your 'Supreme Pontiff,'" Elizabeth demanded.

"I don't know. Even a believer like you may not fathom-"

"In my line of work? Please. I specialize in the unfathomable."

"Very well, then. His story is the stuff of legends…."

Neri watched through the window in disbelief. Here this guy was rambling on and on with the same _feci della mucca _that he had to hear. And Agent Errol-Koenig smiled, nodded, and took it all in, occasionally asking questions like whether or not Eastman had met this "Supreme Pontiff," and what the "Church" hierarchy was like, almost, after the initial confrontation, as if it were nothing more than a friendly interview over lunch. Most of what Eastman said sounded like rote recitation, and her questions seemed to confuse him. But she seemed to get some answers, though Neri could not venture a guess as to how.

Before long, Agent Errol-Koenig got up to leave. "You have helped out considerably, and I thank you. Maybe, if you get a lawyer, we can see about reducing the charges for your cooperation."

And certainly get this guy a deprogrammer. To think he really believed all he was saying! And with all his talk about combining technology and sorcery, maybe he needed a copy of That Hideous Strength as well.

She then turned back, her eyes ablaze. "Out of curiosity, what do you make of this 'apostate' Pope's _ex cathedra_ statement that those who do not welcome mutants have cut themselves off from the Church?"

"True enough. We just have to rebuild the Church anew in our image, of untainted humanity."

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Back at Vatican Security Headquarters, Zeitgeist worked on her laptop, drafting a report for the chief of Vatican Security. She emailed a copy to her station chief. Then she added two more paragraphs and saved it to her A drive. It wouldn't do to send personal email from a CIA computer. Anyway, there was a cute cyber cafe she wanted to visit.

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To: wingman

Re: _Polizia Romana _Case #374613924

I've narrowed down our leads in this case. While the suspects have all been linked to one or another of the organizations that claimed responsibility for robbing Notizie San Gabriel and for the attempted bombing, all are connected to yet another group that was not listed. This group is the one most likely behind all this.

This new organization seems to be recruiting primarily from Catholic excommunicants disenfranchised by the Pope's expressed sympathy for mutants. Make no mistake. This is not a movement within the Church, as I previously suspected, but now an entirely separate sect that will try to infiltrate the hierarchy. They want to remain under the radar for now, but expect their attacks to become more frequent, more sophisticated, and more flagrant as their plans progress, particularly since this organization seems to be as much doomsday cult as hate group.

And while there is an active cell in Rome, it's constituted almost entirely of U.S. and Canadian citizens. As is most of their leadership. Be on the lookout for a lot of activity Stateside. I am having trouble determining their base of operations, as this group seems extremely mobile. And I cannot get any concrete information at all on this person they call the "Supreme Pontiff." I will need to investigate further.

Attached is a list of all the suspects and the leads they've provided.

Also, I must warn you that your investments are targeted to take a literal as well as financial beating, starting with this operation in Clark County, Nevada. (Also, if I were in your situation, heads would roll in the boardroom about that one. This business is technically legal otherwise my people in the Bureau would have busted them a long time ago. They'll wish we could have before long.) And I need to get in touch with Kurt somehow. Don't ask me how, but this group knows about him.

And due to the sensitive nature of this information, do not forward or respond to this email, bitte. You may, however, want to pay a visit to Mr. Cassidy on your way to the upcoming G8 conference. Nothing personal against him, but he's likely to ruin everything.

-Zeitgeist

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To: unknown address

Re: you know verdammt good and well

If you so much as even entertain the idea of trying to contact me ever again, that your militia will crumble from within will be the least of your concerns. And rest assured, it will, in the worst possible fashion. I never thought what you were doing, particularly with the people you're "recruiting," was a good idea, in the first place.

Oh, yes, and I know you haven't tried to contact me yet. But I also know you're considering it. Nothing personal, but your kind of "help" will endanger us like nothing else. I have my eye on you, and have alerted some of my operatives already. If you or anybody connected to your X-Corps even thinks about my whereabouts, or me or acknowledges me as anything other than some false reading you've tapped from Cerebra, I will know. And I won't enjoy what I'll have to do to keep you quiet and away from my mission and me. Sean, you are a good, but misguided, man with noble intentions. You know who I am, and that's too much. Don't tempt me to introduce my blade to that overdeveloped trachea of yours. This is your only warning.

1 Romans 13:1

4


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth clicked "send," finished her biscotti, and "accidentally" spilled the remains of her cappuccino on the disc. Then she paid her bill and headed out. She'd had a long day at work, especially by Italian standards, but it was far from done. She'd have at least one more report, far more extensive, to file in quadruplicate before the night was over.

She phoned her station chief, then Neri. "Capo, incontriamoci alla Fontana di Trevi. E porta l'aiuto, per favore."

She tried at first to look as casual as anyone would be after winding down from a day's work as she headed ostensibly for her apartment. But to no avail. She knew Eastman would call his friends. And he delivered.

"Gentlemen," she said, without stopping or looking back, "I don't want us to create a scene in front of all these tourists."

"If you cooperate with us, we won't have to."

Elizabeth stopped. "And if I don't?"

"Brother Eastman has revealed to you the gospel of humanity. Your choice is now to accept membership into our fellowship or be cut off."

Elizabeth turned to see seven black-clothed figures surrounding her. All with guns drawn. Okay, this might be a problem. "The only honest choice I have," she said, carefully, "has been preordained by my Creator."

"Yes?"

"Any of you watch any good television?" she asked.

They stood around, saying nothing, and trained their weapons on her.

"Because if you had, you'd know from X-Files that the short, cute, female agent is the one you least want to mess with," she hissed.

"Polizia! Aiutatemi!" she shrieked.

Then time stopped. Completely. All faded and froze. The waters of the Trevi Fountain ceased flowing. Even the finest droplets from its spray hung suspended in midair like crystal beads strung on the finest fishing line. The bystanders stared with unblinking eyes, their jaws locked in horrified gapes. Neri and his officers were frozen in midstride. All was perfectly still and silent except for Zeitgeist. She administered her boots, fists, and elbows to several heads, thanked Heaven for Krav Maga, and resumed time. Before anyone could see how it possibly happened, seven men fell, unconscious.

"Andiamo a prendere questi rifiuti!" Neri shouted. He ran up to Elizabeth, who was now rubbing bruised hands and elbows. "Sta bene? Che cosa é successo?"

"Stoi bene. _You'll have my full report by morning. And I look forward to seeing yours."_

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

And so passed another event Zeitgeist could recognize in several more timelines she needed to investigate.

To: wingman_  
_

Re: _Polizia Romana _Case #374613925

_The attack on me last night has resulted, as I anticipated, in bringing us an abundance of useful information. The involvement of a Swiss Guard applicant, _

_Claudio Testabianco, has alerted us to some unsettling developments in Switzerland, as well as to the need to improve the screening process for applicants as we have for Vatican Security positions. We will need to make mandatory polygraph testing and background checks standard. And run those on all current members, as well. All intelligence saying that this cult will try to infiltrate Church organizations to gain access to their targets has been confirmed, and we cannot be too careful._

_Now we're on to extending similar protection to the cardinals outside of Rome who have lent their support to drafting Nostra Familia Mutantis. Attached is a list of their names and each archdiocese they represent. We will need operatives posing as personal assistants or secretaries providing security. It was the original intent of my attackers to intimidate or even kidnap me, but they had orders to try to kill me if all else failed. Our agents should be prepared to fend off all levels of attack, including assassination attempts. And for the sake of efficiency, they should report all suspicious activity directly to me as our Vatican and Roman contacts have._

_We are also trying to deal aggressively with the designer gene problem. While not directly connected, it does play right into the hands of those who are convinced we are responsible for the decline of human civilization. I have enough on my plate without fanatics who think raising a generation of drug-addled mutant wannabes is part of our plan. Any help from you would be greatly appreciated. The weather's getting too hot not just in Rome, but also in all Europe. I forecast a heat wave in Paris. Ask Logan what that means. _

Zeitgeist thought for a bit before adding this paragraph. With his position as chairman emeritus of a Fortune 500 company and former tabloid and gossip column subject, with chiseled features and a wingspan that made him look like he'd just flown straight from off a church window, the openly mutant Warren Worthington III usually had a good command of the media. Still, she strongly suspected that his upcoming press conferences would not be so easy.

_And save this email, bitte. Yes, this time I need to leave proof of our correspondence. We will need to go public with our own knowledge of this organization and their affiliates quite soon, otherwise, the reaction to Waco will look paltry by comparison. And the last thing we need is future Timothy McVeighs imagining that mutantkind is teaming up with the federal government for the sole purpose of persecuting anti-mutant religious minorities or whatever. I think Miss Sauvegarde is due to return to journalism soon anyway, and she'll be more than willing to help. _

-Zeitgeist

3


	5. Chapter 5

To: googoogajube (more)

Re: Operation Conclave

We have information concerning this international terrorist organization that has targeted the Catholic Church hierarchy for infiltration and assassination. They appear to have multiple objectives: elimination of all mutants and their supporters, takeover of the Vatican, and from there, manipulating all the Holy See's diplomatic ties and resources toward world domination. Or destruction. They couch their rhetoric in various twisted misinterpretations of end-times prophecy, leading us to conclude that this is a doomsday cult as well as a terrorist organization. So whether they succeed or fail, mass murder will be on their agenda. And it may be of such a scale undreamt of even by Hitler or Stalin, I am afraid. Hundreds of millions, mutant or otherwise, will die.

Your assignment, should you accept it, will be simple, but not easy. There is a substantial risk that you will not survive. Each archdiocese listed in the attached file has a position open. The cardinals there need new secretaries or personal assistants. You are to keep track of their appointments, monitor all correspondences and activities, report to me anything even remotely suspicious, and above all protect them. And tell no one. But their support of the real Pontiff has made them all targets.

-Zeitgeist

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later…

To: googoogajube (more)

Re: Operation Conclave

EXFILTRATE NOW!

-Zeitgeist

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"Buon giorno, Santitá. E grazie." Elizabeth slipped into the confessional at the back of St. Peter's Basilica._ "I'm glad you made the time to hear my confession before Mass."_

"_And I am glad that you understood that all I put at your disposal included the Sacraments, too, _figlia mia. _So how long has it been since your last confession?" _

"_Seven weeks. _Santitá_, let me begin with some business. Our success in halting this group's infiltration of the Vatican means it's time for me to move on. Everything is as close to under control here as they can get, and I can do no more good here. In fact, you'll be in greater danger if I stay._

"_And now on to my sins. Would it be all right if we continued the conversation in German?"_

"Sprichst du Deutsch?" said the Pontiff, surprised that she didn't reveal up until now that she knew his native language.

"Ja. _In fact, I have not been honest with you since we met. My name is not Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. And while you may have guessed that Angelique Sauvegarde is a nom de plume, she's not a friend or colleague. She's another one of my aliases._ Ich heißeKassandra Altheim_. And I am not with FBI."_

"_But the FBI said you were their top investigator," _said the Pope.

"Ja,_ I was. I mean, Elizabeth is. But I'm with the CIA. I am a spy."_

The Pope had heard worse sins confessed than this. But no confession made him quite this nervous before.

"_Not to worry, _Eure Heiligkeit_. We still share the same objectives. But my interest in this matter is not just that of anyone who loves the Lord, hates oppression, and all that. _Heiliger Vater, Ich bin ein' mutant_."_

The Pope looked into the girl's black-coffee colored eyes. She was shaking. Here was an opportunity to prove he meant what he said about welcoming mutants. Or prove he was a hypocrite who could speak very nicely of mutants as long as he never came face-to-face with them. But he didn't see an opportunity to prove anything. He only saw before him a person in need of comfort and some absolution. _"_Meine Tochter, _being a mutant is not a sin," _he said.

"Ich verstehe_. But deceit, intimidation, blackmail, bribery, and violence? My abilities make me very effective at that sort of thing. Furthermore, I never revealed to either agency that I am a mutant. Granted, they never asked. But under current US law, I am a double agent. A traitor to my country. I have been sharing sensitive information with a couple of my fellow mutants, and I've even had some work for me as operatives. Even though it is in the interest of protecting lives and my country's ideals, technically, under the law, I have recruited more double agents, including a few with criminal backgrounds. They are not enemies, though several countries certainly see all of us as such." _

The Pontiff took a deep breath. _"Can you think of the good you've been able to accomplish with your talents, without resorting to violence and such, and breaking the law?"_

"_Not really. My ability to get things done with minimal fuss is not the same as getting things done with none at all. I know you heard that I helped bring in seven armed assailants from that doomsday cult. What you may not have heard is how I did that single-handedly, and without drawing a weapon. I stepped out of time and knocked them all unconscious before they could so much as fire one shot, _Heiliger Vater_. And it is likely that I will actually be responsible for several deaths before this assignment is done."_

The Pope thought for a bit. _"I am aware that your CIA has paramilitary capabilities. And I can guess that you don't wear that St. Michael medal just because you enjoy fencing. You see yourself as a kind of soldier, _nicht wahr?"

Kassandra nodded

The Pontiff continued. _"Just recall that in the early days of the Church, when it was illegal to even be Christian, there was a controversy over whether Roman soldiers would be allowed in the Church, and whether Christians would be allowed to serve in the military. The answer was yes. _

"_And at various points throughout history, attending Mass, reading Scriptures, or even simply professing the Faith was, and in too many countries even now still is, a grave act of civil disobedience. Do not confuse conscientious objection to an unjust law with disrespect for authority._

"_There will come a time for you to beat your sword into a plowshare, but until then, as long as you fight only for just causes, with humane and honorable methods, and only after diplomacy fails_,_ you are not sinning."_

"_And if any part of me enjoys the fight, then what?"_

"_A Rosary on the Sorrowful Mysteries for your Penance. They may be criminals, but they are as much God's own creations as any other person. Reflect upon that and pray for their souls. And get yourself back to the salle, so you can enjoy the grace and power of your fencing without hurting anyone."_

"_Oh, that brings to mind another matter I need to confess, _Heiliger Vater_," _said Kassandra. _"I told you about my friend Kurt, right?"_

"_Your favorite fencing partner, the off-and-on-again seminarian? How could I forget? You seemed so happy to hear when he was finally ordained to the transitional diaconate._"

Kassandra blushed furiously. _"Well, that's another thing I wasn't entirely honest about." _

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

It wasn't easy getting on the first and quickest flight from Fiumicino to her rendezvous at Kennedy Airport. Rapidly escalating tensions in Zürich, Paris, and Berlin meant airports overcrowded with people who, like her, were desperate to leave Europe before things heated up any more. But Kassandra had anticipated that and pulled a couple of strings to get on that plane.

Now all she had left to do was wait until they'd landed. And she could not wait. Her best efforts to save every life at that X-Ranch in Nevada only resulted in one girl rescued. And that little genius, while fidgeting with some artificial teleportation device, managed to zap herself directly into enemy headquarters and was nearly killed there. After giving away the Xavier Institute's location. Then Nightcrawler, always the gallant knight in the shining leather X uniform, led that rescue. And then something else went wrong. So dreadfully wrong that Zeitgeist had to drastically step up her plans.

Maybe some music would soothe this savage beast that paced behind Kassandra's black coffee-colored eyes. She pulled on a pair of headphones. "Di mi quando tu verrai," Domenico Modugno sang. "Di mi quando, quando, quando_."_ Nicht jetzt. Kassandra changed the station. Now it was the Beatles. "Anytime at aaall, anytime at aaaall…."Any other time, she'd like that song. Now it was downright depressing. How about some classical music, preferably some that would specifically get her mind off of what troubled her, rather than remind her of it? She changed stations just in time to get a headache's worth of Richard Wagner's _Gotterdämmerung_. When Siegfried was tricked into drinking the potion that erased his memory, no less. Great. Just great. Maybe the movie would provide some nice escapism. What was it? _Captain Blood, _starring Errol FlynnWhat kind of _verdammter_ flight was this? Apparently she was doomed to be taunted by the fates of ironic in-flight entertainment. She yanked the headphones off, pulled a sleeping mask over her eyes, and figured she should at least try to rest.

Even that escape was denied her. The nightmare that woke her early that morning and drove her to frantically arrange last minute meetings, fire off emergency orders, and commandeer a seat on this plane haunted her again. And so all she could do was pray that the plane would land safely. And soon.

4


	6. Chapter 6

"Logan!" Kassandra threw her arms around her favorite self-appointed honorary crazy uncle, who saw fit to meet her at the Institute's hangar.

"It's good to have you back, Little Elf." Wolverine returned the embrace, then recoiled. "You're still using that stinky herbal hair oil?"

"Fair's fair, Logan," said Kassandra, as they headed toward the mansion. "You still smell like stinky cigars and cheap beer. Now does Kurt know I'm here?"

Logan's mouth twisted. "Yeah. He's very excited to meet you. How was your flight?"

"Don't ask."

"That good, huh? So, what more do you know, besides the hot weather Warren's talked about?"

Kassandra knew she could depend on Logan to understand CIA jargon for, to put it mildly, trouble. "Everything," she said grimly. "And the weather's going to get even hotter here."

And she knew all too well.

"Kassi," said Logan, "meet Stacy, Xavier's newest stinkbug."

"Stacy-"

"So, you're the cop who tried to shut us down!"

"Correction. I'm the fed who tried to shut you down. But let's not talk about that disaster. I wanted to thank you for saving Kurt the other day."

"Did somebody say my name?" Nightcrawler entered the foyer.

At the sound of his voice, a young vision looked up to him with hauntingly dark eyes awash with joy, grief, anger, and- and something else. He couldn't tell what. "Hallo, Kurt," she said. "Ich bin es. Dein' Zeitgeist."

Zeitgeist. A charming girl, with a reputation for brilliance, sweetness, fun, and occasionally kicking serious _Arsch, _according to what he'd heard about her.Who spoke fluent German with a rich accent he hadn't heard before. Or had he? And he'd heard a bit about her extratemporal powers. What an appropriate code name! How did she get it? Why did she refer to herself specifically as _his_ Zeitgeist? How did she know his name? And he was usually quite at ease meeting pretty young mutant women. Just what was it about this girl that was different? An awkward smile played across his face. He took her hand in his. She had such perfect hands with smooth brown skin, graceful fingers, neatly trimmed nails, and a firm, muscular grip. She had to be a musician. Or a fencer. He swept into a deep reverénce and kissed her hand. He hadn't exactly felt like his old silly, overly chivalrous self lately, yet somehow, this felt strangely appropriate. "Meine Dame. _Have we met?_"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt Wagner was still a teenager when he, as the Incredible Nightcrawler, became a sensation as the Munich Circus' star aerialist. It was about an hour before showtime, and he felt a need to gather his thoughts at the nearest suitable retreat. But this time, he didn't have the sycamore tree to himself. Sitting on the same branch and leaning on the trunk was a dark-haired girl about fifteen, who didn't look like she was in any condition to be sitting up in the highest branches of any tree. Indeed, she looked quite faint and about ready to topple over.

He scrambled over to her, wrapped his tail around the branch, and put his arms around her to steady her.

"Bleib bei mir. Ich hab dich."

Her eyes rolled back, and she went completely inert.

"Gott im Himmel!" Kurt decided he needed to get this girl down and inside, immediately. But a look into her dark face, quite foreign-looking by most Bavarian standards, and an approaching clamor of voices convinced him that perhaps she was indeed safer where she was.

"Wo ist unser kleiner Mischling? Wo ist sie hin?"

"_Away from you _Schweinehunde," Feuer Langhagen bellowed after them. _"And the next time you torment a member of my audience, I'll make you a part of the show!"_

Kurt clutched the girl even tighter. For her to fall from that height would have been bad enough. For her to fall into _that_ would be even worse. At last, the noise died down, and the girl began to stir.

"So, was ist los?"

Her eyes fluttered, and she looked up. "Nightcrawler?"

"Sag einfach Kurt zu mir. Warum bist du hier?"

"Rassistenschweine. _My family went in to save seats for the main show, but I wanted to see more of the fire-eater's show, so I stayed behind. And then these people came up to me, and just asked what I was. They decided I was too pale and my hair wasn't coarse enough to be _eine-" her face crumpled in disgust. "-_you know, that N-word,_ _and that I must be, begging your pardon, a 'filthy gypsy' or- _oder eine Türkenschl-_"_

"_Say no more."_ As if the slur about the Roma wasn't bad enough, they had to call her that? Kurt seethed, baring his fangs. _"That sort of thing makes me ill, too."_

"Ach, _it gets even worse," _she said, furious tears springing from her eyes._ "Finally, they concluded that I must be something 'worse,' and started pushing me around and calling me _eine Mischlingshündin!_ I said it was none of their business what I am, and reminded them that racism went out of style here with the toothbrush mustache."_

Kurt almost laughed in spite of himself. That seemed just the sort of thing he'd want to say under those circumstances._ "You know, that was a good one."_

The girl dried her eyes. _"For a moment, I thought we were mistaken in thinking that visiting my father's relatives in Germany would be safer than visiting my mother's in Soweto! But at least this behavior's illegal here, _nicht wahr?"

Kurt nodded. _"And if you didn't come here, I wouldn't have the privilege of sharing my tree with you. Anyway, how did you get away, and you being sick and all?" _

"_I don't know. I wanted so badly to put a stop to everything, it feels like that's what happened. Everything just seemed to stop. Then I found myself here. Kurt, how do you deal with stuff like this?"_

"_Well, actually, I'm not Rom. But Daj Margali always said it didn't matter, and would never tolerate anyone calling me 'gadje' or the old ladies shaking their skirts at me. Of course the racists don't bother about facts before they pick their targets. They only know what little they allow themselves to see, and I pity them. Just think about what they're missing. I get to sit in a tree with a cute girl like you, and they don't!"_

The girl blushed slightly. _"You have a point, but I wasn't just talking about your ethnicity. Or what they think it is. They tolerate you because they think you're just an acrobat in a blue demon costume, _nicht wahr?_ Don't ask me how I know, but I do. That's not a costume, and you're no demon. You're just the person I needed to talk to, the one I somehow knew I'd find here. By the way, what are you doing up here, anyway?"_

Kurt, already a bit self-conscious and more than a little mystified as to how this stranger could know so much about him- and not be bothered by it, looked away, embarrassed. _"Well, I climbed up here for a reason far more mundane, I'm afraid, than to rescue ladies from falling out of trees. I was just contending with a bit of stage fright."_

"Ach. _That's perfectly okay. You'll do fine. Besides, my piano teacher once quoted Pavarotti as saying that if a performer doesn't get a little stage fright, that's when there's something wrong."_

Kurt took one of the girl's hands into his own. Her hands were small, like the rest of her, but perfect musician's hands regardless. _"So it seems you're also just the person I needed to talk to. What's your name, anyway?"_

"Kassandra Altheim."

He gently brought her knuckles to his lips. If there was any girl who could possibly get his mind off Jimaine, it might be her. "Kassandra. Ein schöner Name für eine schöne Dame. Sehr erfreut Sie kennenzulernen," he said, with no small amount of exaggerated formality. "Ich heiße Kurt Wagner. _Now it should be safe. Let's get down from here before the show starts. Are you feeling any better?_"

"Ja, ein bißchen," she said.

"Gut. _Hold on to your stomach." _

He held her close and teleported them safely to the ground. The girl looked a bit peaked and staggered as her feet touched the ground, but she quickly regained her footing. As he helped her to big top, he said, "_I'm impressed. You handled your first teleport quite well. By the way, you don't seem alarmed by my appearance."_

"Nein," said Kassandra, still waving the noxious smoke away from her face. _"I have another blue furry friend in New York who looks about twenty times as scary as you."_

"_Is that where you're from? New York?"_

"Nein. _My mother is South African. My father is a German Namibian. We live in Keetmanshoop."_

"_So that's where you got your charming accent!" _

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kassandra responded to Nightcrawler's half-joking courtliness with a low curtsey of her own. _"Well met," _she replied, with a mournful smile.

And as they rose, Kurt noticed that her near-black curls smelled softly of jasmine. And a small silver pendant, almost the only jewelry she wore, caught his eye. It seemed everything about this girl was disconcertingly familiar.

"_I like your St. Michael medal," _he said. _"It looks like one I used to have."_

"_Do you know what happened to it?"_

"_Come to think of it, I don't remember."_

The girl surprised him by taking off the medal and pressing it into his three-fingered hand. "Es ist deins," she whispered. "Verzeihung."

And she swept out of the room.

4


	7. Chapter 7

A thoroughly miserable Zeitgeist bolted madly down the hallway and nearly barreled into Dr. Jean Grey.

"Kassi?"

"Jean!" she sobbed. "What happened? WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM?"

Jean put her hands on Kassandra's shoulders and looked steadily at her. "Kassi, I am afraid you know that better than I do."

Kassandra's eyes widened in horror. "It was just like when you all took on the Marauders, or the Adversary. I wanted to think it was just a waking nightmare. Something just yanked me out of time. I saw what happened, I couldn't look away, and I couldn't stop it!"

Kurt was tempted to follow this girl out of the room, especially after he overheard something about the Marauders. And nightmares. He'd been having a lot of those lately, himself. Perhaps the déjà vu she inspired stemmed from some remote common experience. But she seemed extremely upset, and he figured Jean was, at the moment, better equipped to deal with that. He would try to find out just what bothered this girl when she had some time to simmer down.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He remembered Riptide coming at him. The feeling of being nearly flayed alive and powerless to resist. Then nothing.

Eventually he locked in on a soft smell, dim light, and low, muffled voices.

"I know I said ye talkin' and readin' tae him would be good, but, och, lass, ye need t' rest, too. I ha' enough patients on ma hands as it is, and I canna ha' ye and Ororo both breakin' doon."

"I'm almost finished, Doktor," said the husky voice of a young girl who had spend the last Kurt had no idea how long talking his pointed ears off, reassuring him that she'd survived the massacre and that it looked like Kätchen would be okay too, even though she was not in good shape at the moment.

Kurt stirred. She was wrapping up reading _Die Drei Musketiere. _Outside the Bible, that had to be one of his favorite books. What happened? Where was he? He rolled his unfocused, comatose eyes toward that voice, and could finally see… Kassandra? She put the book down and took his good hand, hoping for the response he'd been trying, and up until now, unable to provide. "Kurt, kannst du mich hören?"

"….Himmmmmm….el?"

The girl smiled and stroked his forehead. "Nein, Kurt. Nur Schottland. Muir Insel."

Kurt squeezed her hand slightly, and a bleary smile flickered across his face. It took most of his strength, but he had to say this. "Gnad…. Ennn…gel."

And the bewildered, exasperated, and embarrassed mix of expressions on her face was like a refreshing balm to his many wounds. "Kurt, du bist unverbeßerlich!

"Moira," she said to Dr. MacTaggert, "it's confirmed. He'll definitely pull through."

"Well, at least his ability t'make ye blush has nae been affected, love. But I'm afraid all this flirtin's tired 'im oot!"

And so it had, but it was well worth it, if it wasn't all a dream.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra was beside herself. "They went into his mind, but not like you've ever done. They erased stuff. A whole lot of stuff, including most everything pertaining to me! Worse than that, THEY HURT HIM, Jean! Gott steh uns bei! Even I don't know how badly!"

Utter despair threatened to envelope her. All those years they'd been friends, fencing partners, comrades-in-arms, and maybe even more- gone just like that. She couldn't just tell him about it all. He wouldn't believe her. Having Jean try to psychically restore his memories would only do more damage. Psychology wouldn't help. This was no ordinary case of amnesia, and in this case, Kassandra had good reason to doubt her clinical objectivity. Nightcrawler didn't surrender this or any memory willingly. Kassandra knew that. So they nearly killed him, went into his mind against his will, toyed with his dreams, stole memoriesand stripped him of a few crucial things that made him Kurt. Hot tears stung her eyes at the very thought. No, just as it was with Wolverine, Kurt would start remembering things and inquiring only when he was ready. And then maybe she could help. But until then, she had other things to do.

As if that weren't bad enough, now Zeitgeist's operatives began to disappear. Granted, she alerted them to all the risks, telling some under no uncertain terms that, while she'd do all she could to help them, they were not likely to survive. And they were willing to take those chances. Most agents took assignments for some personal gain. Not these people. They were in it purely on principle. And losing such good people did not sit at all well with Zeitgeist.

"Kassi, I also have seen evidence of this psychic tampering," said Jean. "What do you know? Who did this, and why?"

Kassandra took a couple of ragged breaths, composed herself, and tapped her forehead, signaling that she wanted to communicate telepathically. _"I might as well tell you, Jean, but only on the condition that you do not even tell Scott."_ Because Cyclops would want to get all the X-Men involved in her mission. There would be a time for that, but she needed them to stay where they were for now. "_I have a conference with a couple of my people in about an hour to deal with just that. I'd like very much for you to come with me. Meanwhile, I think having Logan run me through some combat simulation will do me some good."_

"_I agree," _Jean thought, as they headed down the hallway. _"We also have something for you, that you may want to try out."_

3


	8. Chapter 8

Nightcrawler teleported about the Institute hoping to find that strange and intriguing girl that he, somehow, upset. He found her in the Danger Room.

"There's a strong chance they'll come at me with everything they've got, Logan," she said. "So don't hold anything back."

"Not a problem, Little Elf." Wolverine was not usually known for holding back, anyway, his fondness for Kassandra notwithstanding. "What would you like?"

"Try to surprise me."

Logan chuckled. "Is that even possible?"

Kassandra drew her sabre and saluted Logan. "Well, you saw it happen once or twice."

She then turned to Kurt, saluted him with a smile, and took her en garde stance.

The very way she saluted, just sharp enough, profoundly respectful, and devoid of any extra showiness, made him more uncomfortable. She was definitely a veteran fencer. He could see her looking quite fetching in a white canvas jacket and knickers. Or maybe he had. Verdammtes déjà vu. At any rate, she wore black now – what appeared to be a modified X-Men uniform and trench coat that made her look like some anime heroine. Not fetching. Stunning.

Kassi regretted that she would not be dueling with Kurt this time. But preparing to finally go toe-to-toe with this doomsday cult seemed a perfect occasion for music anyway. A requiem, in fact. And nothing less than all the driving rhythm, percussive thunder, orchestral fireworks, and the operatic style of Verdi would do for the upcoming _Dies Irae_.

"Mutant signature detected. Terminate immediately," the robotic voice boomed.

"One sentinel, Logan?" she said, as she began dodging and deflecting its various bolts and missiles. "I thought you'd give me something harder."

No sooner had she said that than two more appeared. Her eyes gleamed, and a ghost of a smile appeared.

"You're still in normal time!" said Logan "Want a bigger challenge?"

"Bring it on!" She leapt, dodged, and parried, biding her time until she could put her power to use against a real threat. Then grinned widely as six more began firing upon her.

"Oh ja! That's more like it!" she shouted.

"Ist sie verrückt?" Kurt thought. The girl must be suicidal. And his suspicions appeared confirmed when she cut a missile down, and took several pieces of the flying shrapnel in the side. He leapt up in alarm. "Ja, Himmel noch a 'mal!"

"Easy, Elf," said Logan. "Kassi, you okay?"

"Gut, danke!" She did not even slow down. The sentinels closed in. And then, with eyes ablaze, she transformed. Kurt's own golden eyes widened in shock. All he could see of her, a bright, transparent human cyclone, looked like a woman transfigured. Or possessed. She did not seem constrained by laws governing time or velocity. _Und was ist das?_ Teleportation, and bilocation? Perhaps she was an angel incarnate. But what kind?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The television was on CNN. "This just in, the President will give an address regarding this morning's sentinel attacks on Arlington, Virginia and Washington DC from an undisclosed Air Force base…"

_"He will deny all knowledge of how it happened, blame it all on faulty technology, promise that changes will be made in the Secret Service, and make no mention of mutants in the government, if he wants to stay in office,"_ said the new FBI intern who now sat next to Kurt.

"Kassi?" Kurt turned his shocked gaze to her. She had only just turned up again at the Institute this afternoon. _"Did you have anything to do with this?"_

Kassandra folded her arms. "Alles."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The whirlwind took down all nine sentinels before the _Tuba Mirum _ended. She stepped back into time, resumed her normal appearance, and saluted again, then walked up to Kurt. _"I've seen your thoughts in your timeline, _Herr Wagner, _and I daresay I am insulted."_

"_I did not intend to compound upsetting you with insulting you, _Kassandra._ I was not familiar with the scope of your abilities. Well, not entirely. I do feel like we've met before."_ And as Kassandra sheathed her sabre, Kurt made note that not only was it a live blade of unprecedented strength, but it had an engraving on the flat. "Hebräer 4:12."

Kassandra decided to take a chance. _"Then give me a regular fencing sabre, and I'll prove upon your body that everything you suspect about me is true. Except for the part about me being crazy, a demon, or possessed. You of all people should know better. What's more, I shall prove that I once was and shall again be your favorite fencing partner."_

"_A bold claim, _Liebchen. _Why would I enjoy dueling someone against whom I clearly have no chance?"_

"_Because you're always up to a good challenge."_

"_Well, now that you put it that way…"_

"You Elves may need to save buckling that swash for later," said Logan. He was pleased to see the two of them up to their old stuff, but… "Kassi has a meeting."

"_Very well. _Wenn wir uns wiedersehen,_" _said Kurt.

"_When we meet again,"_ Kassandra concurred. She tried hard not to think "if."

3


	9. Chapter 9

A tall, shapely redhead joined the short, burly man and the petite, almost boyishly slender girl making their way down the hallway, as a few others decided to take their turn in the Danger Room.

"So how did your new getup serve you?" Jean asked.

"Well, it moves with me quite well. I like how the built-in reinforcements replace the plastron and the chest guard. Und Herr Drake," Kassandra said to Iceman in a voice to rival his own abilities, "you can refrain from wondering why I'd need one of those."

Logan smirked as they walked past. Bobby Drake imagined himself to be the wittiest of the X-Men, and quite frankly, often had most everyone wishing he'd just freeze his mouth shut.

"Anyway," Kassandra continued, as they entered the War Room, "the long coat is perfect for giving a point to my concealed weapons permit. And it seemed to protect me quite well. The shrapnel didn't do any worse than sting when it hit. Altogether, I like it, danke.

"And, Warren, Logan, Jean, now that we're all here, let's shut the door and convene immediately."

"Does Xavier know about this?" Jean asked.

"I've allowed him to check in on me, of course. But no. Not about this specific operation. Jean, we need you to guard all our thoughts. There may come a time when we will need to reveal records of this conference and what is said here," said Kassandra. "But until a subpoena says otherwise, not a word or thought about this leaves this room.

"Since you encountered this group at what appeared to be their headquarters in Montana, Kurt's sustained partial memory loss of a nature I'm beginning to understand. And since then, my mission has been compromised. Most of my agents have disappeared. A few are already dead. A few have exfiltrated, but it is all too likely they'll eventually be rolled up, too. I am afraid there is a connection. The reason why Kurt survived the attack on him, and why any of my agents are still alive, is because this group has plans for all of them."

"You have new operatives, right?" asked Logan.

"His Holiness and the cardinals are in good hands, Logan. However, I could not get new agents. At least no more directly answerable to me. If I did, I'd put more people in more danger. And that's also why I have to leave tonight."

SNIKT! Wolverine's claws instinctively shot out. They were no longer threatening phantoms like Angelique Sauvegarde or Elizabeth Errol-Koenig.

"Yes, Logan," said Kassandra, "my covers are completely blown."

"That's why they stole Kurt's memories!" said Jean.

"Partially. I'm not in any terrible danger yet, despite the fact that I've inconvenienced them terribly. No, they have some use for me, too."

Logan stood and slammed a clawed fist on the table. "Then why aren't we rescuing your agents? Why aren't you in hiding? Why aren't your fed buddies helping? And why, dammit, won't you let Xavier know?"

"BECAUSE!" Kassandra leapt up and stared Logan down as best as her 5 foot 1 inch frame could allow. "With the complete fiasco brewing in Europe, and the fact that these people will soon bring the battle to New York, you are going to have more than enough to do. I, on the other hand, have to get them when, where, and how they least expect it. And Charles has been under the microscope since going public. He cannot have anything to do with this."

"And," interrupted Archangel, "'the last thing we need is future Timothy McVeighs imagining that mutantkind is teaming up with the federal government for the sole purpose of persecuting anti-mutant religious minorities.' Logan, I don't like sending her into this alone any more than you do. But based on the information she's sent me, I think she knows what she's doing."

"Danke, Warren. And while I appreciate your desire to help me, it is precisely for that reason that I must handle this alone. And I really shouldn't even wear the X." Kassandra removed the belt buckle from her uniform. "Nobody must think the X-Men or the federal government are responsible for what's likely to happen. If anyone gets hurt or killed in this operation, I have to take the fall."

"But Worthington and I tangled with these people before. We know what they can do. They aren't like the sentinels, kid. They've got this kamikaze thing going."

"I know." Kassandra tried to sound reassuring, but her voice and an unfamiliar scent gave her away. The few times he'd seen her go into battle, he smelled grim determination on her. This time, it was indeed different. However worried Wolverine was about her….

"_Warren," _Jean thought. _"Kassandra cannot say this or Logan will pitch an even bigger fit. But before you get back from Paris, we need you to try and talk Jubilee into returning with you. She's under the false impression that she's safe with X-Corps."_

"Logan," said Jean. "Kassi's already afraid. More than you are. And not of what they might do to her."

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That medal. Kurt knew it wasn't among the few things he had at the rectory. He rifled among the things he'd kept in storage here. Come to think of it, he didn't even recall having it when he returned from London. But Brian would have let him know if he'd left anything of his there.

Puzzling. He rifled through his things some more, and found a sword belt and sabre. Ah, yes. It had been a very long time since he had last seen this. Logan had it made for him. But what was that it said on its flat? "Epheser 6:10-17." Logan would not have thought to inscribe a Bible verse on it. Come to think of it, when Kurt thought of how he got that sword in the first place, his mind drew a complete blank. Strange, how it looked like a slightly longer version of Zeitgeist's weapon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As they left the War Room, Logan retracted his claws and grabbed Kassandra. "I'm sorry, kid. Not everyone can have my stomach for fighting. And that's one thing I never wanted to give you."

"You've been nothing but generous to me, Logan. But that killer instinct? I'm afraid I did not get that from you."

"And I think I know what scares you now, kid," said Wolverine. "I never got all it is that you and the Elf get out of your religion, but whatever it is, I think it'll help keep you human. And I don't think you'll really go into this or anything alone as long as you hang on to that."

Kassandra wrapped her arms around him and planted a peck on his grizzled cheek. "I'll remember that, Logan. Danke schön."

As they walked down the hallway, Nightcrawler dropped in on them. "Kassandra, Ich muß mit dir sprechen."

"I'll leave you two alone, then," said Wolverine.

"Tschüß, Logan!"

"No goodbyes, Little Elf! Just get back here safely and soon."

"_Leaving so soon?" _Kurt asked.

Kassandra sighed. "Ich muß."

"_Would you mind if I walked with you to the hangar?"_

Kassandra almost laughed. Why would she mind? _"_Nein_. I'd like to talk with you, too."_

"_So why did Logan call you '_Little Elf_?"_

"_Why do you think?"_

"Warum_ '_Little_ Elf'? Is it because he thinks your abilities are similar to mine?"_

"Ja, so könnte man es sagen." And because we've shared more than similarities, she was tempted to add.

"Oh," said Kurt, still not one hundred percent satisfied with the answer. _"And the medal- I remember. You weren't just giving it to me. It really was mine. And the only way you could have ended up with it that makes any sense is if I had given it to you. I mean, how else would you know it was mine? But we only just met today, _nicht wahr?"

Tears welled up in Kassandra's eyes. She blinked them away. "Kurt, Liebster, _I hope you'll believe me and take this easily. But as it's said, the simplest explanation is usually correct."_

This statement left Kurt more than a little befuddled. He'd have to think about what she meant by that later. "_So would you like this back?"_

"Nein, Kurt. _Keep it, _bitte. _To remember me_. _Or at the very least hang onto it until I get back."_

"_And I'll look forward to when you do,_ Liebchen. Gehst und kommst du wieder mit eine steife Brise." Kurt briefly wondered about the _Piratensprache_ he suddenly found himself speaking. Lately, he hadn't felt up to the daring swashbuckler role he used to enjoy so much. But for some reason, around her, he seemed to fall right back into it.

Kassandra surprised him again before she entered the hangar. She grinned and held up an imaginary cutlass in a salute. "Ja wohl, Käpt'n."

4


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, cop!" Stacy strode up to the plane just as Kurt left and Kassandra was about to board. She had some things to say, and didn't want anyone else at the Institute to hear. She didn't want anyone thinking she was going soft. Or willing to socialize with law enforcement. "We gotta talk."

"Ja?"

"Listen." Stacy lowered her voice. "I just wanted to say thanks for trying to save our butts out there at the X-Ranch."

Kassandra smiled. "Bitte. But it's not as if my efforts did much good."

"Can't blame you for trying, though. But we need to talk about something else. I've seen plenty of weird real-life soap operas, a couple going on right now in that mansion. Logan and anyone else who can smell it may be fine with it, but this is just too weird, even for me. What's this thing you've got going on with Wagner?"

Much to Stacy's surprise, Kassandra did not deny anything, behave defensively, or act at all like a woman put on the spot.

"I might as well be upfront. You're almost as good as an empath."

"No kidding, Captain Obvious. You knew his name. You said something in German. And you topped it off with the pheromones. Good girls like you never fire off so many like this over guys they've just met, especially if the guy wears a collar. Something's up."

Kassandra sighed. "Remember how you found Kurt back there in Montana? Don't tell him unless you want to do similar damage. He needs to remember this on his own. Everyone knows this but him, right now. But he's been one of my best friends for, oh, about ten years, give or take. And they erased it all."

Stacy could hardly believe her ears. It was bad enough that they murdered what few friends she had. It was bad enough that they tried to kill her. But at least they had the decency to let her keep what few happy memories she had. If anything could possibly be worse, this was it.

"Well, what's a soap opera without someone getting amnesia, anyway?" Kassandra said, her attempt at humor failing utterly to mask her bitterness.

"There's more to it than that. Level with me, hon. You and he weren't 'just friends,' were you?"

Kassandra could argue quite effectively that even those in the most platonic relationships deserved more than to be labeled "just" friends, that such a friendship was just as important, if not more so, than any other sort of relationship, and that she'd be content if she and Kurt were "just" friends. She would have technically been telling the truth. But Stacy would know she was also dodging the question. She morosely shook her head. "Not to sound judgmental, Stacy, but I always knew you were wasting your talents at the X-Ranch. Someone as perceptive as you would be a terrific counselor. Or detective."

"You're not making fun of me, are you?"

"Not at all. Oh, and by the way, you'll have some good friends among the X-Men as long as you make no assumptions about how they like you. Warren in particular. Tschüß!" Kassandra closed the cockpit.

Well that tore it. Stacy didn't know what Kassandra meant about Worthington, but a cop who'd already gone to a bit of trouble on a prostitute's behalf, and then respected her enough to admit honestly why she radiated heartbreak, rather than keep up some futile pretext of toughness, deserved more than a mere thank you. What was the one thing that cop wanted most? For Kurt to remember her? Maybe for them to pick up wherever they'd left off? There were ways to go about reminding him that that hadn't even occurred to Kassandra. That cop most certainly would not help him forget his collar. She was far too much of a good girl for that. Well, Stacy wasn't. And for a fuzzy blue guy with funny ears and a tail, Kurt was kind of cute anyway.

2


	11. Chapter 11

**In the Name of Humanity**

Part 1 of 12

_By Angelique Sauvegarde_

To members of the Church of Humanity, Christ dwells exclusively in an unmutated human genome.

His representative claims no name, but a centuries long history, unverifiable according to investigators, of mingling with famous scientists, explorers, and occultists, and the title of "Supreme Pontiff," much to the offense of all upstanding Catholics.

Many followers are excommunicated Catholics, unhappy with the Vatican's expressed sympathy for mutants. They carry AK-47's, hand grenades, and a variety of other weapons of unknown origin. And at a glance, the Kevlar-reinforced clothing of their clergy bears a superficial resemblance to priestly vestments.

And while their base of operations is tucked in the most inaccessible reaches of Montana's Rocky Mountains, their activities have taken them to cities like Rome and New York.

They believe the end of the world is near, and that they are to secure an eternal place for humanity- without mutants.

Members pay dearly for their beliefs. Investigators have reported that the leadership:

● ordered attacks upon mutants of unknown capabilities

● enslaved mutants who could serve their purposes

● used torture and other means of mind control to ensure compliance from

members and mutants alike

Authorities have also questioned former members about their involvement in the attempted bombing of Notizie San Gabriel in Rome, the assault of an FBI agent investigating that and other crimes, their stockpiles of illegal and even unknown weaponry, and their connections with the Acculturation Resistance Movement based in Zürich, Switzerland. Further allegations suggest they are behind the attacks on a Nevada brothel and an Atlanta gene research facility, as well as a number of disappearances and murders currently being investigated. However, due to lack of evidence, the authorities have been unable to act on these and the aforementioned complaints.

Reactions have been mixed in the nearby communities of Dillon and Butte. On one hand, residents fiercely defend the right of this group to believe and teach what they want. But many are concerned about how the presence of a group allegedly responsible for numerous acts of domestic and international terrorism will affect the safety, economy, and reputation of their community. Butte mayor Shannon Downey summed up the feelings of the community this way. "We've always been a community that values radical and even unpopular thought. On the other hand, with the current state of our economy, we can only hope that tourists, businesses, and new residents are not scared off by the presence of this group."

2


	12. Chapter 12

"…_and all that you've held sacred falls down and does not mend...  
"…when you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend…  
"…and all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend, just remember…."_

The full moon shone brightly over New York. Even so, there were plenty of shadows the light could not penetrate. Kurt sat atop St. Michael's rooftop after a few acrimonious words from Father Whitney. A boy he had tried to help just died from his inability to control his mutation. Back in Salem Center, the new girl Stacy had made some very obvious advances toward him that he rebuffed, not because of his vow of celibacy, and not because he did not desire a woman's companionship, but because, much to his surprise, a woman did indeed occupy his thoughts. A particular woman. The nightmares and unexplained flashes of memories he wasn't sure were his had been only getting worse since she showed up. And obviously, there was some kind of war brewing, if the X-Men would work with such artillery as her.

All this served to deepen the misgivings he'd already been entertaining, about his vocation, and even his faith. He unfastened his Roman collar. That he even thought he had the right to wear it in the first place seemed completely unreal. In fact, so much of his time at St. Michael's seemed that way. And when he revealed to Father Whitney that his troubles could not be addressed by simple daily reading of the Breviary, what response did he get? No offer to pray with and for him. No direction to appropriate Scripture passages. No referral for counseling or a recommendation for going on retreat. None of what Kurt knew a priest or deacon with doubts could expect. Just a terse "you know the way out."

Only one thing was clear now. Merely wearing a collar and working at that church would not give him the lasting peace he so badly needed. He had gathered up the few things he could, including a letter addressed to him. He had long forgotten what it said, but had a feeling it was important, otherwise, he would not have kept it. Then he left the rectory. Leaving the collar behind him. Somehow, Kurt suspected that leaving the priesthood really shouldn't have been so simple.

"Hello, Warren? Bobby? Anybody? Any X-Man out there with a communicator on?"

"Nightcrawler, it's Northstar. How far can you teleport?"

At any rate, rejoining the X-Men would not be so simple. But once back in Salem Center, he reread the letter.

Mein Lieber Kurt,

_Getting a hold of you has been rather difficult lately. I couldn't email you or call, but I have Warren to thank for your address. First off, I wanted to say _tolle arbeit, _busting that slave ring. You'll make a good agent, yet. And you've just proven that while it is possible to remove a good mutant from full-time heroics, removing the heroism from the mutant just won't happen. At least not in your case. _

_Nonetheless, I wish I could tell you to completely disappear for the next several weeks, or that I could do anything to keep you out of the mess that's brewing. I may have to create the biggest flap ever to expose this anti-mutant cult and put a stop to their plans once and for all, and I really do not want you in the middle of it. Far too many people will suffer as it is, and many, many more will if we both aren't terribly careful. But I know you will throw yourself into any maelstrom to protect someone. And so all I can do is pray. And remind you of what you once said about me, that I am not yours to surrender. Remember that you are God's own by adoption and by His Sacrifice, and not your own to surrender. Remember that, no matter what you see or hear, particularly over the next several weeks._

_I am also beginning to see that your future and mine are somehow connected in all this. For the sake of your safety, you will not hear from me again until I see you. But keep your eye on _L'Osservatore Romano _Or really any newspaper, for that matter. And, this Father Whitney- _trau Ihm nicht!

Dein' immer,

Kassi

Strange way to sign a letter. Kurt wondered if that was a habit of hers.

Thousands of miles away, the snow, which lightly powdered the ground at Yellowstone National Park only intensified the light of the full moon and the stars blazing across the sky. Kassandra had retired early that evening hoping to get plenty of rest for the events she anticipated. She awoke with a start, threw on her clothes, grabbed her weapons, and left the lodge as quickly and as quietly as she could manage. Instantly. Before she plowed ahead into a future that frightened even her, she had to experience this moment in utter solitude, without any tourists looking on.

Logan was only partially correct. Sure, she was frightened of what she could become. But that was a familiar cross to bear, this constant wondering if she fought for just causes or a bloodthirsty desire for vengeance. She doubted Kurt remembered how he once called her an angel of mercy. Just as well. At this point, she felt he couldn't be more wrong. This was beyond a crisis of conscience. And while she never liked the idea of going into any real battles, this was not the relatively prosaic fear in anticipation of war. No one went into war without enough intelligence on the enemy. She couldn't even read their leader's timeline to confirm if all she'd heard was true.

Of course, it helped that what she'd heard was so far-fetched that another run of Angelique Sauvegarde's articles had seriously hurt the cult's credibility in the area. And some journalistic research brought more critical information to the surface. The illegal involvement of state governments and even some of her fellow federal agents with this cult, as troublesome as it was, would only help her case in the long run, if she made it that far. She couldn't go public with that knowledge, yet, but at least she made sure the information was now in Xavier's hands. So far, so good. Nonetheless, the imminence of directly taking on an unknown enemy by herself played a pounding, discordant Stravinsky ballet upon her nerves. That riotous Rite of Spring, no less.

And now she sat on the foremost bench, a black-coated silhouette. In one hand, she held a CIA standard issue Smith and Wesson, never fired outside of target practice. Across her knees, lay a glittering sword, which did not share her gun's relatively pacific history. She could, theoretically, just leave. Leave her weapons and disappear. She briefly contemplated hurling them to where even volcanologists feared to tread. She might as well. As far as she was concerned, her career, and perhaps her life, would soon be over. The gun would be destroyed in the superheated waters. The adamantium sword would not be, but it would soon be completely embedded in the travertine deposits that constantly formed here, to never again be wielded by anyone. No, that was a criminally stupid idea. Still, the idea of retiring her weapons permanently had some appeal. She sure felt like a criminal anyway.

She scanned the surrounding area, then suddenly stiffened. No one else was awake, but there were eyes on her. Oh, stupid, stupid Kassandra. Just barely thirty-five yards away, and slightly to the right of the geyser mound, some large creature or creatures stirred in the shadows. Bison. She looked over to get a better look, and caught with her eye the warning sign. "Dangerous Ground," the bold letters screamed, even in that dim light.

Some people, mostly locals from Montana or Wyoming, tended to refer to this part of the Rocky Mountains as "God's Country." A bold claim, and perhaps not very accurate, its sublime power and beauty notwithstanding. The whole place testified to the precarious balance and outright danger of its existence, even on a gorgeous night like this. The magnificent beasts who were, for now, content to sleepily observe her from a distance could be stirred to deadly stampeding rage with the least provocation. In rushing springs, still and vibrantly colored pools, and not far below the seeming tranquility of the forests, rivers, and the earth's thin, snow-dusted surface stirred waters hot and acidic enough to burn the flesh clean off anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. And not far below that, the world's largest magma chamber awaited a day when it might, or might not, finally blow. She wept quietly.

It became clear. Any feeling of peace even this most beautiful of places could give her was ephemeral at most. She opened her eyes, and they fell to the engraving on the sabre's flat. "Hebräer 4:12."

"'Denn lebendig ist das Wort Gottes, kraftvoll und schärfer als jedes zweischneidige Schwert;" she murmured to herself this favorite of verses, "est dringt durch bis zur Scheidung von Seele und Geist, von Gelenk und Mark, es richtet über die Regungen und Gedanken des Herzens.'"

She recalled the rest of what Logan had said, about her not really being alone. "Lieber Gott," she whispered, _"I know my options. But I need to understand. Which is the path You want me to take through this fallen world?"_

"_Just remember that death is not the end."_ 1

The tension became palpable. The bison, somehow knowing that their warm campsite would soon be flooded with scalding water, got up and moved further away. Steam began pouring more furiously from the vent. And with a gurgle, a whoosh, and then a hissing roar, with only one moonlit silhouette to witness it at that hour, Old Faithful erupted.

And though the steam blanketed all around in a glittering white mist (that smelled a bit like a teleportation signature), Kassandra saw what she had to do. She sheathed her sword, wondering what possessed her to consider getting rid of such a gift. Then she holstered her gun, stepped out of the fog, and returned to the lodge. There would be a time for beating swords into plowshares. When the fabric of time and space would be torn up, and everything that ever was good in every universe would be rewoven into perfection. She looked forward to that. But until then, as long as there was a need to stake everything against any unjust war, she'd keep her sword just as is.

And though she finally understood exactly how Nightcrawler felt about attempting a blind teleport, she felt a little, very little bit better. Not any braver, but at least more resolute.

1 Bob Dylan, "Death is not the End"

4


	13. Chapter 13

And so Kassandra flew her favorite unmarked stealth fighter dangerously low over the Montana border around the looming mountains of the Continental Divide. Once again a mutant would herald a battle coming, not as foreseen, but when and how she saw fit, like a thief in the night. They would not know of their moment of reckoning until they'd return to that violated sanctuary they called their Cathedral, and find her ready and waiting for them. And there it was. She circled round, firing upon where she was told their anti-aircraft artillery was, then landed. She choked back a sob, wiped her eyes, and willed herself to maintain adamantium resolve and emotional control as she marched right into that den of iniquity. Empty. But the lions would return. She drew her sword, held it point down, dropped to her right knee, and made the Sign of the Cross. "Heiliger Michael, bete für uns. Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel, so auf Erden. Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute."

She left time and saw the timelines of what horrors approached, intent on tangling with her. One in particular tore her heart. The one they'd call their false prophet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mutant designated 143 could see in his mind, the only part of him that had any function left, a bright, transparent vision in the sanctuary, kneeling. "Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unseren Schuldigern," she said.

This worried him. She was there, but somehow beyond the reach of his telepathic influence. He could only get one thought from her. Remarkable. Somehow she knew he'd try to probe her mind. She was now addressing him with not so much as a thought but a strong feeling.

"Mein armer Liebling, what have they done to you?"

Saliva dribbled from his perpetually gaping mouth. Nobody here had addressed him before, except with orders. Forget about compassion. But that was meaningless. Compassion would not help him do what was needed. And it was a rhetorical question anyway. The girl already knew. And what had been done to him was nothing quite like what they'd do if he didn't cooperate.

And here they came.

Zeitgeist stood up. She raised her voice and her sabre. "Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung, sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen. Amen!"

"Your prayer will not help you. The prayers of the wicked are not heard."

"Feeling judgmental today, aren't we? And how do you know I'm one of the wicked?"

"You are part of a mutant plague that's infected the government. And you are to deliver the war of our apocalypse."

So be it. They had some use for her. Others had and would have similar ambitions for her. If a rider of war was what they wanted, that's exactly what they'd get.

"Prepare for your part, mutant, and gaze into my abyss."

"How philosophically egalitarian." said the wraith, as she instantaneously dodged a bolt of blue energy. "You mangle Nietzsche as badly as the Bible. And your cheesy attempts at mind control will not work."

"Nonetheless, you will surrender all you hold dear. Your answers. Your secrets-"

Zeitgeist glanced past the giant in the cartoonish mockeries of papal attire. Finally, it was clear why she couldn't get a timeline on this character. "They are not my own to surrender. Particularly to some holographic Jim Jones."

"Brethren, neutralize the mutant. But we need it alive. Inhuman creature, your claim to know Scripture, philosophy, and the human mind is laughably pathetic."

"Let's share a laugh, then. Reverend Stryker was least remotely interesting, but still just a spring without water, a mist driven by a storm. I'm almost disappointed, because I'd heard quite a bit about you. And then I discover that you, Your Unholiness, are not even real! Now can all of you please stop firing and put down your weapons? I'd like for us to handle this like homo sapiens." 

"You dare consider yourself human?" the hologram sneered.

"For once you got something right. Sure I'm human. My father, God rest his soul, was human. My brothers and sister are human. And God knit me in my human mother's womb. I just happen to have a human X-factor mutation and an all too human temper, which I will lose if you don't call off your dogs."

"Arrogant monster. You will suffer for your insolence."

"Yes, I will. But not how you think." The peaceful resolution that was meant to be would not happen. She'd prayed for God's will to be done. But the people claiming to fight in His name clearly had other plans. "And you'll only send your followers to their deaths if they try to kill me."

"A glorious martyrdom."

"No, a most undignified suicide."

"We cannot make this vermin cooperate. Brethren, exterminate it."

"Come on guys, you'd have a better chance of surviving if His Unholiness just served out some of his Kool-Aid."

"He who loses his life for my sake will save it."

"Jesus said many would come claiming to be Him, and warned against following them. Okay, guys, obviously you don't get it. I HAVE appealed to your alleged faith and your human reason. And now I have had ENOUGH!"

With time slowed, she could still dodge whatever they fired at her, but still allow them enough time to see what she was doing. Maybe learn that theirs was an exercise in futility.

"Ever read Deuteronomy 30:19?" she shouted. And with her adamantium sabre now whirling furiously, she stopped cutting their bullets out of the air or deflecting their bolts harmlessly away. Now she deflected everything right back at them.

"'CHOOSE LIFE THAT YOU MIGHT LIVE!" They kept going. That's right, _verdammt. _Their twisted parodies of priestly cassocks and vestments were reinforced with Kevlar, as their minds were with the twisted idea that true martyrs actually abandon hope and long for a violent demise. She could not afford to remain on the defensive.

"Gott, erbarme Dich unser," Zeitgeist prayed, and her sabre bit flesh. One man lost both his arms, his armor giving little resistance to her adamantium blade. The others surrounded her, pumping more bolts and bullets into the air. Even with time slowed, she had to use every muscle in her body to duck, dodge, parry, and slash. Two more fell. They weren't learning. She stopped time altogether. If she had to hack her way through this mess, the only humane thing to do then was to get it done quickly. In an instant, the ranks she cut down fell around her, spilling blood and limbs all over the floor.

She then flit over to the red-robed image. Its overlarge wrist guards were hooked up to all kinds of technology. Kassandra didn't want to be bothered to check which controlled the image inducer or the teleportation nets. It didn't matter. She severed all connections, then resumed a slow flow of time. There was no escaping now. And in the instant that the image of the nine-foot tall, three hundred year old cosmonaut flickered out, Kassandra saw all she needed- the reality behind the phantom, and the timeline she sought. It was a past full of pride and pain. And a present and future dominated by an understandable bit of post-traumatic stress mixed with a huge amount of paranoia, megalomania, and- ach, forget the psychology- one insanely bitter vendetta. Kassandra didn't know whether to laugh or cry or scream.

Instead, the wraith held her sabre point to the 'Supreme Pontiff's' throat. Her eyes burned. "If I fly them to Butte right now, they might survive. Don't even THINK of disintegrating them with your desecrated hosts."

"You don't want to kill me. I hold the memories of one dear to you."

The glowering wraith pressed her point. "Should that impress me? I know all about you now. You hurt him and others dear to me. You had similar plans for me. I do take that very personally. And you have been plotting all kinds of mass murder. I DO want to kill you. But be thankful this is not about what I want.

"My Lord Himself said, 'Upon this rock I will build My Church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it.' Your plot to bring it down was doomed to fail from the start. Rest assured, though. Your last chance for redemption will come soon. I do suggest you take it. Until then, it looks like you've got quite a mess to clean up before your next guests arrive."

With that, she disappeared, along with a couple of wounded to take to the hospital, under federal custody. The fact that she did what she must, that she tried to be honorable and humane and all that, and that it was all for a just cause did not ease her conscience one bit. She tied one last tourniquet and wiped the ghastly crimson mess off her sabre.

At St. James' Hospital, the doctors had taken charge of their new critical care patients. Kassandra specifically requested that they monitor their patients' signs for unusual electrical activity and to filter their blood for nanoprobes, hoping against odds that it would be enough to ensure their survival. Then the priest finished administering Anointing of the Sick, and Kassandra finally had some time for an important conversation.

"Hallo, Father. It's been one week since my last Confession. The two to whom you just gave Anointing? I'm responsible for that. What's more, there are eleven more that weren't as fortunate."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took a while for her to get a good signal, but she needed to make sure nobody but her own people would be tapping the line. She called Cyclops on his X-Link.

"Cyclops, it's Zeitgeist."

"Kassi?" He was surprised.

"I need to cut right to the chase. There is a reason why Worthington did not brief you about the Cult of Humanity."

Scott noted that Kassandra avoided calling this group a church. She continued. "It actually was a good thing Kurt had expected him to brief you on their encounters with them. Because I trusted that he wouldn't."

"What?"

"Espionage, mein Freund. This is classified information. Religious leaders are world leaders, too. And you didn't think an international plot to start a genocide by assassinating them would go unnoticed by anyone in my line of work, did you?"

"So why are you telling me now, after so many people-"

"-like so many of my agents, died? And Jubilee and Magma almost with them? You think this is easy for me, Scott? I knew there was a chance this would happen. I told them in no uncertain terms when I gave them their assignments that they would not likely make it. And they were all willing to take that chance. You would have done the same."

"And I would have gotten everyone else to help you."

"Yes, and gotten everyone else killed, which is why you could not know up until now. I know you've had your hands full enough in New York. But now I have a personal favor to ask of you in Montana."

"But-"

"Not another word! Listen!" Zeitgeist could not have him revealing on record that he was heading up there anyway. "Just so we're perfectly clear, this is NOT an X mission. I am ordering a raid on the Cathedral. I have scouted and softened their defenses a bit. And I disabled their teleportation nets, so they think they have no choice but to stick it out and fight. Now I need to lead a full cavalry charge to wipe them out before they've finished regrouping."

Scott grit his teeth. Kassandra was a nice kid, though she could get a bit intense, but who did she think she was, giving him orders?

"Trust me, Scott. You do not want to be responsible for this. They will show no mercy, but rather try to take what they deserve. Jean knows they have a powerful telepath under their sway, so trust nothing you see when you get here. But tell Logan to trust his nose. And bring everyone you can."

"But-"

"Yes, I'm concerned about what's come over Polaris lately, too. But she'll come through. I'll see you soon."

5


	14. Chapter 14

The final confrontation went just as well as Kassandra expected, much to her dismay. Her investigator had perished, along with everyone else in the cult. Not one of them survived. This bitterest of victories was no Waco. It was even worse than the mass murder-suicide that was Jonestown. Even those who managed to leave the cult went missing. Those whom they could find all turned up dead, despite Kassandra's orders that they be put under witness protection. The two at St. James Hospital, despite everyone's best efforts, disintegrated right before their doctors' eyes, before Kassandra could question them. And even the X-Men did not come out of this unscathed. Logan, Scott, and Lorna were all wounded.

Back in Salem Center, Kassandra needed a break before returning to McLean, Virginia and preparing for her eventual grand jury investigation. She had just checked in on Jubilee and Magma, then warmed up her fingers and now sat at the piano staring at the keyboard, for once at a loss regarding what she felt like playing.

Kurt slid beside her. _"I know I have forgotten a lot of things lately, but I do remember this."_

"Was ist das?"

"_You issued a challenge. And I accepted."_

Kassandra for once wasn't sure she felt at all up to fencing, but there was more than honor on the line. "Das ist wohl wahr, Kurt. _You choose the weapons and styles."_

"_Sabres, unrestricted styles, and…" _Kurt thought for a bit. _"For some reason I feel like listening to Mendelssohn."_

"Mir ist's recht," said Kassandra. "_But_ _just to make things even more interesting, I will not use my mutant abilities, though I hope you don't exercise similar restraint."_

In the Danger Room, at last, Kassandra cued the music, then saluted. Kurt noticed that though she held the sabre in her left hand, she had both hands gloved.

"Bis zum ersten Kontakt," she said.

This shouldn't take long at all, thought Kurt. _"To the first touch," _he agreed.

The piano played a charging theme, as they engaged. Nightcrawler attacked immediately. Kassandra parried and riposted. A tenor began lightly singing the words to a Heinrich Heine poem.

"In dem Mondenschein im Walde sah ich jüngst die Elfenreiten..,"

"_You won't let me get a point in, _nicht wahr?"

"_Just as I said. I'm fighting to prove my point. Besides," _Kassandra grinned,_ "I know something you don't know."_

"Ihre Hörner hört' ich klingen, ihre Glöcklein hört' ich läuten."

"_You're not left handed." _Kurt smiled as he parried and retreated. So she'd seen The Princess Bride, too. And she was actually pretty good with the left hand. Forget about switching hands. Time to switch styles. He grabbed another sabre. But had Kassandra fought this match before? She was already attacking with a blade in each hand, and some style that wasn't strictly Florentine, but seemed oddly familiar anyway.

"Was ist das?"

"Unglaubich, nicht wahr?" said Kassandra. "_I adapted a few techniques from Zulu stick fighting."_

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Was ist das?" Kurt was almost taken aback by how Kassandra, now just finishing her second year at the Institute, had taken so well to fighting with two blades, despite the fact that he'd only been working with her on Florentine style for a few minutes. While she was barely within the rules, she was throwing in tricks that weren't familiar even to him. And this element of surprise enabled her to get in the first point, for the first time within normal time. She possessed the speed and ferocious agility of a sabrist, but typically fenced with the patient endurance of an epeeist. While she had beaten Kurt before without using her mutant gifts, she usually took a hit or maybe two before she could anticipate his plans for attack and rally.

"_Zulu stick fighting, Kurt," _Kassandra replied. _"It did originate as a two-sword form, after all."_

"_This will be interesting. Let's see what other African tricks you can adapt."_

"Nun gut._ You asked for it!"_

Kurt smiled as Kassandra attacked with everything she had. _"Just bear in mind, I don't think you'll be able to fence competitively like that."_

"_Oh, and like your typical style is all competition legal?"_

"_Touché."_

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The song was now in its second verse. "Ihre weissen Rößlein trugen gold'nes Hirschgeweih' und flogen rasch dahin; wie wilde Schwäne kam es durch die Luft gezogen."

Kurt decided he'd start using the advantage he had. He began teleporting about Kassandra, trying to steal her tempo. It didn't happen. She was always right where he was with a parry or counterattack.

Kassandra smiled. _"As I expected, you put even Errol Flynn's footwork to shame. Too bad I know all the ways you telegraph."_

"Was?"

"_Those little cues you don't know you provide. You always smirk when you think you're going to surprise me." _And Kassandra did appreciate seeing that again.

"Lächelnd nickte mir die Kön'gin,.."

But speaking of footwork… Kurt's tail darted for Kassandra's right ankle. Well, she agreed to suspend the rules for him.

"…lächelnd in Vorüberreiten."

She allowed him to pull her- into a back aerial, and as she parried with her right, her left hand's blade smacked him across the abdomen on the way up.

She landed, saluted, then promptly transferred her sabre to her right hand, removed her mask, and tucked it under her elbow. Kurt did likewise, and took her left hand in his. _"_Sehr gut_. Who taught you to do that?" _

"Galt das meiner neuen Liebe? Oder soll es Tod bedeuten?"

"Du, mein Liebster," Kassandra replied. _"And I didn't mention how your tail always twitches when you think about trying to trip me up."_

Kurt rubbed his chin in thought. _"Well, now that you've proven pretty conclusively that you have fenced me before, I feel the need to discuss the ramifications of this revelation. Perhaps over dinner tonight? My mind must have been scrambled pretty badly for so brilliant _und so eine schöne Schwertkämpferin _to escape my memory, and we must get better reacquainted."_

"Du bist unmöglich, Kurt, wie immer_. I accept. I'll be at St. Anne's until 6 for choir rehearsal. I'm filling in for their regular organist. Maybe you could meet me there?"_

3


	15. Chapter 15

Rehearsal wrapped up, Kassandra finished the piece she'd selected for the postlude, and then she pattered down the stairs from the choir loft. She paused at the holy water font to bless herself. Strange. She knew Kurt would be here, but she couldn't see him. And she was vaguely aware of some strange man approaching from a side chapel.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. Kassandra immediately let loose an ear-splitting shriek and swung her fist. Only this man's carefully honed reflexes kept her from breaking his nose.

"Kassi?"

_Oh, mei! _Kassandra took a ragged breath. That voice, that Bavarian accent, and the fact that the stranger, up close, looked a bit like a young Errol Flynn could only mean one thing. "Kurt?"

"Es tut mir leid, Kassandra. _I usually never affect people this way with the image inducer."_

"_I didn't know it was you!" _Kassandra gasped.

Kurt smiled. The irony of having to ask this question was not completely lost on him. In fact, it was delightful. _"So would you be more comfortable if I kept the image inducer off?"_

"Ja! _Meaning no disrespect to the image of _Herr_ Flynn, but this is a church. It's never supposed to be a masquerade. And you do remember what the Pope said about mutants in the Church, _nicht wahr?_"_

"_Very well." _The image flickered out, and there stood Nightcrawler, perfectly pointy-eared, pointy-tailed and yellow eyed. And nobody screamed about a devil in God's house, but…

"Kassandra, are you all right?" Nearly the entire soprano section, which had been chatting in front of the church, clattered through the vestibule and burst through the doors.

"I'm fine. My friend here just made the mistake of startling me." Kassandra then whispered to Kurt, "Sei unbesorgt._ For one, they already know I'm a mutant_."

"Es tut mir leid, ladies." Kurt dipped a finger in the holy water and made the Sign of the Cross. "And I promise to be more careful from now on. I wouldn't want to risk any of you losing your fine voices on my account."

And so, amid good-hearted laughter, Kurt and Kassandra strolled from St. Anne's to what Kurt promised was the area's best place for a couple of mutants to share food, wine, and conversation, keeping mostly to the shadows, as they knew all too well that not everyone shared the same kindly attitude toward people who look different.

"Lucky you," said the pale, purple-eyed hostess, "A table in the mutant section just opened up."

"Mutant section? Was ist das?" Kassandra looked over at Kurt, appalled.

"Sorry, Miss," said the hostess. "Most of our low-gene customers are uncomfortable eating around people like your friend."

Low-genes. Oh, this kept getting better. "I'd think your non-mutant customers would be more uncomfortable if they heard you calling them that," Kassandra hissed, recalling the names she'd been called, even when people thought she was just a biracial, German-speaking, Catholic immigrant. She spun on her heel and started for the door in a huff. "Kurt, ich kann hier nicht essen."

"_Kassi,"_ whispered Kurt, putting a gentle hand on her elbow. _"This is the only place around here besides the dives that will serve me without requiring my image inducer. And most of those are segregated, too."_

Kassandra stopped, sighed, then resigned herself to being seated. And she nursed the idea of writing a letter to the management about the stupidity of separating mutant and non-mutant customers.A very strongly worded letter. _"_Ich verstehe. _But I'll never be comfortable with any kind of genetic apartheid. And our hostess' attitude just proves once again that 'evolved' doesn't necessarily mean 'improved.'"_

"_Well," _said Kurt, _"It certainly sounded like the latest evolution over at St. Anne's was an improvement."_

They talked for a while longer about music. Kurt confessed that he was almost amused at the athletic way he saw Kassandra stretch her petite frame to reach the pedals and the top manuals simultaneously. Especially for a piece as demanding as that Widor toccata she played after the choir had finished. Almost. For some reason, he was not surprised that she pulled it off.

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Kurt knew that Kassandra's small, slight appearance was just that, and it completely belied her ability to do big things. Like physically throwing her body and outstretched hands against a keyboard, and, almost as if by some miracle, eliciting the most beautiful sounds possible out of that instrument. This was also a girl who, before she began working with the government, normally regarded fencing whites as formal wear, and whose typical idea of Sunday best was a clean track suit and running shoes, ostensibly because she liked to jog after Mass. For a more formal occasion, she could be persuaded to wear a skirt and blouse. And even after she took her jobs with the government, she tended to dress rather, as she put it, practically. She always looked cute to him, regardless. But tonight she was radiant, taking the stage for her recital with a shy bow- in a perfectly fitting off-the-shoulder dress of palest coral, the lacy hem of which swirled around her well-defined calves as she turned and sat at the keyboard. She had evidently succumbed to Kätchen's insistence upon shopping for something other than track or business suits.

And the inferiority complex watching her play nearly gave him, well, he was glad she addressed that earlier as he watched her warm up.

"Nicht alle können Klavier spielen, Kurt. Und das ist gut so_. So you don't have as many fingers as I do. You're still a better gymnast, you're better at literally hanging out, and I've just accepted that I'll never look as good in blue as you do. Now relax and enjoy the show."_

And the program was amazing from start to finish, including a particularly inspiring rendition of Chopin's sixth polonaise. But at the end, which seemed to come too soon, after a flushed and beaming Kassandra bowed to shouts of "Encore!" she returned to the stage. Taking another bow, she winked mischievously and obviously in Kurt's direction, and sat back down at the piano. There would be an encore. Of course no note of it was made on the program. But this time, after all the years Kassandra endured Kurt's flirting and teasing, she finally had a chance for revenge. A purple tinge crept up Kurt's face. That first low trill ascending into a slinky scale could only be Gershwin. "Rhapsody in Blue."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra interrupted his thoughts. "Kurt, was ist los?"

"_Just another one of these moments I've been having since I first got back from Montana. Nightmares, flashbacks, and the like. And I've heard that you can tell people things about their pasts that even they don't know."_

"_Anything in particular, Kurt?" _Kassandra asked.

"_Try everything that's been erased."_

"Let Kurt ask the questions," Jean said, before Kassandra had left that afternoon. "Answer only the most specific ones. Don't accept carte blanche to read his entire timeline back to him."

"_Kurt, are you sure you want to know all of that, right now? A lot of it is pretty traumatic stuff."_

Kurt frowned, then shook his head. _"Since Father Whitney confessed how I was being used in their plot, I thought just knowing that would make everything better right away, and it hasn't."_

"_I'm not surprised. But actually, Kurt, I am amazed that you're recovering this quickly."_

"_Quickly?"_

"_I've been having nightmares about this, too, and they couldn't even touch my mind. I've seen the sort of things most people try to block from their memories. Honestly, Kurt, at this point, there are some things you are better off not remembering."_

"_Well it isn't just the nightmares. And I didn't bring you here to talk about that, anyway. It's thoughts and images, some of them actually quite pleasant, that seem to come from nowhere, and I don't know if they're real memories or planted like my whole time in the priesthood was."_

"_You're right to wonder. You'd been given what has to be one of the worst case of selective amnesia and false memory syndrome I've ever seen."_

"Was? _Don't tell me you're a psychologist too!"_

"Eigentlich, ja. _But I tend to accept dinner invitations from friends rather than patients."_

"_And that's what I wanted to talk about."_

4


	16. Chapter 16

The conversation stretched for hours through a prime rib dinner and, afterward, an excellent bottle of port wine. Kurt shared what he could remember in flashbacks, and Kassandra helped him make sense of them. It was not easy for her, as she did not wish to exert any influence over Kurt's own memories, there were more than a few items that would be a bit too difficult to deal with then and there, and it was little awkward for the shy and unassuming girl to see herself in Kurt's timeline. After a while, Kurt decided he had to address some questions that did not pertain directly to his past.

"_Kassi, it's just struck me that as bad as it was to be stripped of these memories, they didn't really succeed in taking away what is dearest to me."_

"_Your faith, Kurt?"_

"Nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen. _I've discovered that I really am not cut out for the priesthood. But after what you've told me of your own experiences in Montana, while I may still wonder about my calling, I think my confidence in God's will is returning. Do you often struggle with these moments of doubt?"_

"Ja doch. Immer. _But it's this beautiful, treacherous world we live in, and our ability to find our own way through it, that I do not trust. God always has a plan for the best, even when I can't see that. Whether to cooperate or not is our choice and our responsibility. Nearly all of human history, including that of us mutants, is made up of refusing to do God's will, and the dreadful and complicated effects of those choices."_

"_That cult also believed God had a plan."_

"Nein, Kurt. _They had a plan of their own that they made into a false god. And the supreme pontiff chose to reject your offer of mercy and let rage take control. To the detriment of us all."_

"_So, do you ever wish we did not have free will?"_

"_It would solve a lot of problems,_ nicht wahr?_ But for one_. _Think about what the X-Men would be if Charles just telepathically manipulated everyone to do what he wanted, except on an omniversal scale. Like what the Beyonder had already attempted. We'd be incapable of any real virtue, trust, love, and friendship. Would I be here now reconnecting with an old friend because I genuinely care for this person, or because it was programmed into me?"_

"_Speaking of reconnecting," _said Kurt, as they donned their coats and headed out. _"I was also thinking about hope_. _I think I am meant to share my adventures with someone. As wonderful as it is to confirm that we've indeed had a happy history together, I'd like to know if we could pick up where we left off."_

"_It is possible," _Kassandra blushed. She had to make sure this was real, and that she was not even unconsciously trying to sway Kurt's decisions. Many people could not see past his outward appearance, and they feared him. A few women could see and appreciate the handsome features, lean acrobat's physique, and the considerable charm beyond the plush-like blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. Past all that, Kassandra knew was a genuinely gentle soul, and to reduce her feelings to terms of attraction or desire, she felt, would not do him or her regard for him any justice. And especially after all that happened, he needed to make his own decisions. _"But what kind of future would you want? Rehashing your relationship with Cerise? I mean, I can't promise you many adventures to share if I end up behind bars. After all that's happened, all the blood I have on my hands, serving in prison ministry might be a good option, if you want to see anything of me once the grand jury hands in its indictments."_

Kurt chuckled. _"A teleporter in prison ministry? You don't really think that'll happen, _nicht wahr?"

"_It might have to." _Kassandra shrugged.

"_How about what you want? I've noticed you don't often talk about that."_

He had to mention that? _"Because it's easier to not think about it. Regardless of how the investigation and trial pans out, I am officially done with the CIA. The best I can hope for is that, besides having exposed that cult's activities, I'll have to actually start living more or less as a regular mutant. For now, I can't say what all that will entail, besides being feared, hated, and all the usual stuff. Anyway, whatever I want for myself usually doesn't happen. If my luck holds, I'll just have to continue dealing with that._"

Kurt wrapped an arm around Kassandra's slender waist and cupped her chin in his other hand. "_One of the things I've learned from all this is that life requires constant adaptation. Can you adapt to a change in your fortune, _Liebchen? _Because I'm willing to take that chance._"

Kassandra looked up into those smiling golden eyes. Seeing Kurt actually smiling again after all he'd been through was, in and of itself, a consolation worth everything she'd been through. Perhaps even worth everything she'd done. But no, she would not think of that now. Only one thing could prevent her from enjoying this moment. Or seven, rather, who seemed determined to cause some trouble. "Ich vermute es, aber-"

"Hey, mutie! Getcher filthy deformed hands offa her!" bellowed one man.

"_Remember what I said about living as a regular mutant?" _said Kassandra, with a nervous smirk. _"Looks like I'm going to get some more practice._" She then bolted, to Kurt's horror, almost directly into one of the thugs who now surrounded them.

"Where ya, goin', sweet thing?" he said, wrapping his thick arms around her. "Ashamed to be seen with that freak? Ya should be."

"Yeah," said another, his breath now repulsively hot in her ear. "Pretty little piece a' tail like you really should be datin' yer own kind."

Kassandra struggled. "What, like you? Let go, or you'll see just what 'my kind' is!"

"Ooooh, that mutie-lover's a feisty one."

"Gentlemen," said Kurt, fangs bared and tail lashing, struggling and resisting the urge to teleport those who dared lay hands on them to uncharted dimensions infernal. "The lady's given you fair warning. She really is not your type."

"Shut that freak up, guys. Make sure he'll never look at a girl like that again."

"As for you, girl, once we take care of yer mutie boyfriend, we'll show ya what real men-"

"Kurt! Raus!"

"Nein!"

"I AM A FEDERAL AGENT!"

"OH, SH-!" One man took a foot unconstrained by physics to the solar plexus. Another only just barely saw a blurry, transparent fist head his way before lights out. They flew back about twenty feet. Kurt made quick work of two more, teleporting vertically out of their grip and slamming their heads into each other. And Kassandra's wraith-like image spun, eyes burning and fists up, to face the remaining three.

"So, what was your friend saying about 'real men'?"

"And didn't I warn you," said Kurt, "that she's not your type?"

They turned away to run, only to find the wraith suddenly blocking their path. Turned again. And there she was, as well. And again.

"Had enough of me already?" said the wraith. "I'm afraid you all are under arrest."

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"Bist du verletzt?" Kurt reappeared from the shadows, as the last of the police cars left the scene.

"Es tut mir leid, Kurt," said Kassandra.

"_Are you hurt?" _Kurt repeated. He took her left hand.

She winced. "Es ist nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen."

"_Only bruised, not broken? _Donnerwetter, Kassi! _How much speed did you pack into that punch?"_

"_That would be a question for the physics department, _nicht wahr?" Kassandra shrugged. "_Look. I'm okay." _She held her hand up, and flexed her fingers. Already the swelling and discoloration, which would have taken weeks to heal for most anyone else, had subsided. _"I just feel a bit foolish. I knew you wouldn't like this. I could've seen this coming. We could have ported out of that mess, but…"_

"_But they attacked us, and we had to stop them before they'd tangle with people less able to handle them. You knew, and they pretty much admitted, that trouble was all they had on their agenda. Why else would people like that linger outside any place that serves mutants?" _Kurt gently pulled Kassandra closer and with velvety fingertips brushed the stray curls away from her face. _"We did right, _Liebling. _I just want you to take better care of those hands. And now, where were we?"_

Kassandra thought for a bit as Kurt's tail gently twined around her calf. He did refuse to leave her to fend for herself, even though she was capable of handling the situation, he hated fighting even more than she did, and he had ample opportunity to escape. _Typisch Kurt_. She still had to be careful. It wasn't as if she was sure she'd see a lot of him in the future. On the other hand, she was not sure when or if she'd have the opportunity to enjoy his company like this again. There were too many possibilities, most of which were not pleasant. Meanwhile, the soft tenderness of his touch was driving her nearly frantic. Oh, well. She'd have to adapt to that. "_Strangely enough, we were talking about my circumstances actually improving." _

"_Starting right about now?"_

"Ich vermute es. _No time like the present."_

"Das ist wohl wahr," said Kurt, as his lips finally met hers.

Everything seemed to stop. This would be no shy or playful first-date type kiss, Kurt realized to his surprise. Feelings long locked away and forgotten, which only recently started clamoring again for recognition, could no longer be denied. He then wondered if she'd managed to transport him out of time. It sure felt like it. He cracked open one eye to make sure. No, everything looked normal. But he was beginning to feel quite weak in the knees. And, while nothing could feel more natural, something about this did not feel at all familiar.

He reluctantly retreated to take a breath, savoring the soft scent of her hair, the lingering taste of fine wine, and the way her lean, athletic body softened like butter in his strong embrace. Apparently, he'd had a similar effect upon her. "_Well, _mein' Schatz, _I should have figured that you'd port through a celestial dimension."_

"Du schmeichelst mir" Kassandra blushed, but checked herself. Some part of her was shocked by this, even though she had seen it coming and even dared hope for it. But coming out of a past of guilt, horror, and disappointment, heading into a future that held only a slim chance of lasting happiness, she had silently resolved to never again let fear and uncertainty ruin a good present, however fleeting it might be. But something was still amiss._ "_Aber was ist los?"

_"How is it that I could have known you for so long, and only just now get around to giving you even the least of what you deserve?_ Ich verstehe es nicht."

_"Well, I wouldn't say I deserve this. But it's not as if you hadn't tried before_."

"_Now that, I can believe. By the way, I think you have something blue on your lip."_

Kassandra smiled as she wove her fingers through Kurt's wavy indigo hair. "Das glaube ich!_" _And they kissed again.

4


	17. Chapter 17

The title literally means Time and Space Between

Chapter 1:

Nostra Familia Mutantis- Our Mutant Family (I know, being of the post Vatican II generation, my Latin stinks.)

Humanae Vitae- On Human Life (a real papal encyclical that created major, major controversy in the '60's. And it has a title that fits this story well, too!)

Notizie San Gabriel- Saint Gabriel News (corny, I know. St. Gabriel is the patron saint of the media.)

Ja, Himmel noch a 'mal- light Bavarian swearing  
Was ist los? Ist sie-? - What's up? (Or often "What's the matter?") Is she-?

Chapter 2

Santitá- Holiness (customary address for this particular personage)  
Ringrazio la Vostra Santitá - I thank Your Holiness  
E ringrazio te, figlia mia- And I thank you, my daughter.

Chapter 3

un mucchio di sciochezze- basically, a pile of trash  
Stavolta, si- This time, yes.  
Capo, posso fare questo- roughly, Chief, I can handle this.  
feci della mucca- literally, "feces of the cow." Manure. I'm too polite to use the more common Italian expressions for that.

Chapter 4

Capo, incontriamoci alla Fontana di Trevi. E porta l'aiuto, per favore."- Chief, meet me at the Trevi Fountain. And bring help, please.

Polizia! Aiutatemi! - Police! Help me!  
"Andiamo a prendere questi rifiuti!"- roughly, let's pick up this trash.  
Sta bene? Che cosa é successo?- Are you okay? What happened?

Chapter 5

Buon giorno, Santitá. E grazie.- Good morning, (Your) Holiness. And (a less formal) thank you.

Eure Heiligkeit- Your Holiness, auf Deutsch

Heiliger Vater, Ich bin ein' mutant. - Holy Father, I am a... of course you know the rest!  
Meine Tochter- My daughter  
Ich verstehe- I understand  
nicht wahr?- common expression for "right?" "isn't it?" and so forth.

Di mi quando tu verrai," - as sung in the Michael Buble/Nelly Furtado version of that song, "Tell me when you will be mine..."

Nicht jetzt - Not now

Chapter 6

Bleib bei mir. Ich hab dich.- Stay by me. I got you. (A little bit Bavarian, there.)  
Wo ist unser kleiner Mischling? Wo ist sie hin?- Where is our little mongrel? Where is she gone?

Sag einfach Kurt zu mir. Warum bist du hier?- Call me Kurt. Why are you here?  
Rassistenschweine.- Racist pigs  
oder eine Türkenschl- or a Turkish... the word she doesn't finish saying refers to a Turkish woman of bad hygiene and worse repute. Not a nice word in any language.

Mischlingshündin- mongrel female dog would be a nice way of putting it.  
Ein schöner Name für eine schöne Dame. Sehr erfreut Sie kennenzulernen. -  
A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. It's a joy to meet you.

Verzeihung.- Excuse me. It can also mean let me pass.

Chapter 7-

After the rather cliche joke of the sick man mistaking Scotland (or some other nice place) for heaven, and suggesting the girl visiting him is an angel...

Kurt, du bist unverbeßerlich!- Kurt, you are incorrigible! (Of course.)  
Gott steh uns bei!- Our equivalent expression would be "God help us!"

Chapter 8-

Ist sie verrückt?- Is she crazy?  
Wenn wir uns wiedersehen- Means both "when we meet again" and "if we meet again."

Chapter 9

Ich muß mit dir sprechen.- I must speak with you.  
Tschüß- an informal 'bye.  
Ja, so könnte man es sagen. - roughly, "yes, you could say so."  
Gehst und kommst du wieder mit eine steife Brise.- Go and return with a gale.

Piratensprache- Pirate speak  
Ja wohl, Käpt'n- Aye aye, Captain!

Chapter 12

tolle arbeit- literally "mad work." In that context, an awful duty done well.  
trau Ihm nicht!- Don't trust him!  
Dein' immer- yours always (not a customary way to sign a letter in German)  
Hebräer 4:12- Hebrews 4:12

Chapter 13 includes the Our Father in German, also

Heiliger Michael, bete für uns.- St. Michael, pray for us.  
Mein armer Liebling- My poor dear  
Gott, erbarme Dich unser- God, have mercy on us.

Chapter 14

Das ist wohl wahr- the equivalent English expression would be "that's true enough."  
Mir ist's recht- it's all right with me  
Nun gut.- All right.  
und so eine schöne Schwertkämpferin- and so beautiful a swordswoman  
Du bist unmöglich, Kurt, wie immer- You are impossible, Kurt, as always.

And the Heinrich Heine poem Mendelssohn so nicely put to music is Neue Liebe. In a nutshell, someone sees the Elf Queen and her entourage riding through the forest, and he wonders if this means new love or impending death.

Chapter 15

Es tut mir leid- roughly, I'm sorry.  
Sei unbesorgt.- Don't worry.  
ich kann hier nicht essen.- I can't eat here.  
Nicht alle können Klavier spielen, Kurt. Und das ist gut so.- Not everyone can play the piano, Kurt. And that's okay.  
Eigentlich- actually

Chapter 16

Ja doch.- Of course  
Ich vermute es, aber- - I suppose, but-   
Donnerwetter- literally, thunderstorm. Commonly used like "good heavens!"  
Du schmeichelst mir- You flatter me.  
Das glaube ich!- I believe that!


End file.
